


although I was burning, you're the only light

by passionesque



Series: everbright [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Basically a rewrite of the Hunger Games, Canon Divergence, Clato - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Smut, Violence, a promised happy ending with no clato deaths, deviates from canon deaths, oh! mutual pining too, slowburn, starting when Clato are kids and growing leading to the Games, writing this in the best possible way without being ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionesque/pseuds/passionesque
Summary: He gave a little mean smirk and she grinned back with equal menace and glee. They may just be kids—too young to volunteer this year or the next—but when it was their turn, they would win. No one could ever stand a chance against them. AU. Clato. Alternate ending, deviates vastly from canon deaths.Basically, a rewrite of The Hunger Games District Two Style.Currently editing: 1/11The companion piece for this isfinallyup!





	1. ignite

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm totally late to this fandom seeing how that it is probably dead. But oh well. I'm just going to share how I think the 74th Games should've gone. Clato fics with happy endings are hard to find so here's my two cents :")

** 9 and 10**

She watched in anticipation as the knife sailed through the air before the steel tip embedded itself into the wood with a satisfying _thunk_.

_Bullseye._

“Good.” The instructor nodded. “Again.”

Clove sighed and straightened her stance, the wooden handles of the knives achingly familiar in her palms. With a sharp inhale, she flung the weapon—the action almost as easy as breathing. Once more, it hit the center of the target.

“Fifteen laps and then back here.” The man barked, attention already captured by the other apprehensive scrawny girl approaching.

She nodded grimly and headed to the track where the other nine-year-olds were. Running wasn’t exactly new to her but neither did she like it.

It was pointless; it didn’t kill, didn’t cause anyone to shed blood. But Clove knew it was for stamina. After all, she didn’t want to die in the Games just because she couldn’t outrun another tribute. That would be such a lame way to die.

Clearly, she still preferred the more lethal aspects of training at the Academy. Already, she’d found an affinity with knives. At nine, she was already outranking the older kids with her scores and her trainers had declared her suitable to volunteer when she reached fourteen. Or maybe earlier if she was consistent.

She began panting when she cleared the eleventh lap but the sight of a group of older kids pushing each other ahead made her roll her eyes. _Boys._

“Hey Knife Girl! Move it!”

Clove scowled as a blond boy—who couldn’t be more than a year or two older—shoved her rudely to the side as he sped past.

She gritted her teeth, catching her balance as she stumbled. It wasn’t her fault that she was small and short. Hence, slower than the average nine-year-old. Plus, she had a _name_.

Aggravated and never one to take things lying down, Clove pushed herself after him and with utter glee, kicked a leg out, watching as the boy tumbled to the ground in a satisfying heap on the gravel.

“Move it, _Blondie_,” she sneered down at his glowering form and took off once more down the track.

Later, she learned that Blondie had a name—Cato. In addition, she also learned that he had a mean grip from the way he yanked hard on her ponytail before shoving her into the mud. If that wasn’t enough, that was followed by sand being kicked into her eyes.

She’d gotten him back of course. Clove had climbed a tree, timing the moment when he swaggered by with his stupid friends and pelted rocks down at the whole lot before sprinting off with manic glee.

The war between them carried on for weeks, only ending prematurely when Cato had gone home with a broken arm and a twisted ankle and she, with multiple cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder—injuries that resulted when they've rolled down at least flour flights of stairs at the Academy.

In her defence, Cato did start it all those weeks ago when he pushed her at the track.

Not that it mattered.

Being kids from District Two where fights and accidents were basically an invitation on a daily basis, their trainers had given them minor warnings and let them off without punishment. The only reason they intervened was due to the fact that their little war was interfering with their training.

Which brought them back to the present.

Clove sulked, wishing for the familiar weight of her knives but no. Because of _him_, they were stuck on the sidelines, watching the other kids fumble and mess up. She fidgeted with the sling that stretched around her neck that crossed over her chest to support her dislocated shoulder and wincing when the very movement made her chest ache. Damn the bruises.

On her right, Cato was ripping up the grass with his one uninjured arm and flinging them aggressively into the air.

“Would you stop that?” she demanded, glaring.

“What?” Cato blinked and turned to face her. “This?” He ripped more of the grass from the dirt and threw it in her face.  
  
Oh, the things she would do to him if she had her knives. God, boys were stupid! Absolutely a waste of time and space and air!

“Knock it off!” she hissed and bared her teeth in the same manner Enobaria had done from the clips they had shown in class.

Cato rolled his eyes, rummaging through his pack as he munched on an apple. Curling her lip, Clove watched in slight disgust at how he polished the whole thing in less than five minutes before moving on to a sandwich.

Her stomach rumbled. Gingerly, she pulled her knees closer to her chest, wincing at the movement and the pin pricks shooting through her legs from how long they’ve been lying in the same position. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat?”

Clove ignored him and focused on the other kids.

Of course, she wasn’t going to eat. Being unable to train, her parents had been furious and decided to punish her by depriving her of a snack these past three days.

“Y’know, for a girl, you play pretty fair.”

She scowled, hands curling into delicate fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cato shrugged. “Nothin'. Just saying that you gave as good as you got and didn’t cry like some dumb ugly baby.”

Before she could reply, her stomach rumbled louder and she flushed, heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks. Even more so when Cato shot her a knowing look.

“Hungry, huh?”

“Shut it!” she snapped and turned away, angling her body towards the left so she didn’t have to look at Cato’s stupid face and his stupid bag full of food.

Silence reigned between them. Morosely, she watched as the other girls in her year throw their knives pathetically, and grimacing when they ended up bouncing off the wooden targets, clattering to the ground with noisy _clangs_.

If only she could train, she would show them all. Show that she wasn't to be overlooked. That she had every right to win and wasn’t some weakling that would end up dying in the first six hours of the Games. No, that was for tributes from the lesser districts.

“Here.”

She blinked at the sight of a half-eaten sandwich entering her line of view, eyes tracing the arm that belonged to the blonde boy holding it.

Said boy didn’t spare her a glance as she stared at the proffered sandwich held between his fingers.

Pride and hunger warred within her and eventually, the latter won out. Carefully, she took the bread, nibbled on it tentatively before taking larger bites. In less than five seconds, the sandwich ceased to exist.

She didn’t have to say thank you. But Cato must have known the words she didn't—_couldn't_—say for he shifted a box of crackers to the space between them.

**11 and 12**

“Not my fault you’re built like a twig.”

Clove grunted and swung her fist into his side and flinched at the sudden throbbing that emanated in her knuckles. Barely reacting from her pathetic hit, Cato erupted into laughter and she scowled furiously before kicking him in the shin.

“Stop laughing!” she growled and turned back to the punching bag, grunting when the bag barely moved when she gave another punch. “It’s just this stupid thing!"

“No, it’s not,” the blond countered, mocking her with an abnormally high-pitched voice. “You’re just too short and tiny.”

“Oh yeah?” she hissed, glaring up at him. “Say that again and we’ll see who’s gonna be eating their words in the dirt!”

It didn’t matter that in comparison to Cato, she was a dwarf, and he, a giant. Or that he’d been bulking up and now stood a head taller. She would go down kicking and screaming if she had to.

“Not interested in fighting like a peasant, _Clovey_.” Cato smirked. “Leave that to Districts Eleven and Twelve.”

She huffed at the nickname but kept her mouth shut. Knowing him, Cato would use it even more to annoy her.

Straightening her posture, she shoved a fist towards the bag and growled in frustration when it hardly moved an inch.

“You gotta put in more power in your upper arms.”

She gritted her teeth. “Who asked for your opinion, dumbass?”

“Says the one who was ranked first in his year,” he shot back and she pressed her lips into a thin line mulishly, silently conceding to him.

Usually, she too, would be top in her year. Her speed, agility and her invaluable skill with knives weren't a match for anyone else. However, her lack in body strength and her losses in hand-to-hand combat had pulled her to the dreaded second place instead.

What's worse was Cato's constant reminders of this very failure. She didn’t need anyone rubbing salt into her wounds, thank you very much. She did it enough on her own.

She gave another jab into the bag and huffed. “It doesn’t matter what you rank, anyway. You know they would never let a twelve-year-old from District Two volunteer to compete.”

This time, it was Cato’s turn to frown as he kicked at the ground, scuffing his white sneakers. “The rules are dumb,” he muttered and she rolled her eyes—a habit that had developed ever since she’d become friends with him all those years ago.

The idea that he would throw himself into the Games at the age of twelve was ludicrous. Did all boys just like sending themselves into danger recklessly? She’d seen the Games earlier this year. The sixteen-year-old male tribute representing their district had died by attempting to take on both tributes from District One single-handedly.

Utter fucking stupidity, she had decided and tuned out from the remainder of the Games.

“S’not like you could win with District One sending the older kids,” Clove retorted, using a tone she reserved for the younger trainees. “You wouldn’t last the first six hours,” she added before moving back into position at the front of the punching bag.

“I would!”

“Would not!”

“That shows how much you know!”

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes!" 

Clove scoffed. “Go ahead and die then.”

The blonde made a noise that was a mix between a growl and a scoff before stomping off. Without a doubt, she knew he was going to do something foolhardy just to prove whatever point he wanted to make.

True enough, it wasn’t even an hour later that she heard shouts and jeers echoing the empty halls of the Academy. As it was a weekend, none of the trainers would be around to intervene and Clove knew, she just _knew_ that it was Cato. Because, really, who else would it be?

Reluctantly, she gathered her belongings, stuffing them haphazardly into her bag and Clove found herself trudging towards a supposedly empty classroom that was the source of all the noise.

As she had suspected, Cato was in the midst of the brawl.

From the looks of the ill-thought brawl, he was clearly getting the worst of it.

Typically of him, he had to pick a fight with four seventeen-year-old trainees. Two of which, she recognised were potential tributes to volunteer the following year.

For the briefest of moments, she debated leaving him there to continue getting pummelled by the older boys. Nonetheless, the sight of him held down by two of them while the rest took turns going after him stirred a rare semblance of pity and compassion within her.

Cato may be an idiot but he was her friend and Clove didn’t have many friends considering her abrasive and distrustful nature.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Back off!”

Five sets of eyes met hers.

“Go run home to mommy and daddy,” one of them sneered and spat at the ground.

Without hesitation, she unsheathed a knife from the holster around her waist and pitched it at the boy nearest to her. Not waiting to see if the weapon did hit him target at its intended area, she launched four more knives in quick succession. And only then did she check if anyone had been gravely injured.

To her credit, all four boys were pinned to the wall in various positions through their clothes and only three of them had been nicked by the blades at various points. Blood dripped to the ground, pooling into a small puddle from where one of the steel edges had scratched the side of a neck, narrowly missing an artery. 

Truthfully, she was marginally disappointed at the lack of grave injuries. She was getting soft. Shame.

“I said to back off,” she repeated, taking her last dagger and twirled it between her fingers. “Do I have to repeat myself?” Her dark gaze meeting the eyes of the boy she guessed was the make-shift ringleader of their little squad.

Clove wouldn’t lie but she was itching for a fight. Had been for awhile.

The disappointment of not being top in her year along with the punishments inflicted by her parents for that transgression made her _hunger_ to administer pain on others. She figured that wasn’t entirely a fantastic coping mechanism but she was a District Two trainee. Nothing was _normal_ here.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t given an opportunity for one when the pack of boys managed to scramble off the walls, shooting her sullen angry glares as they slunk off, no doubt promising retribution in the near future.

When they were gone, she crossed the room and with quick sharp movements, she yanked the five blades from the wall, sheathing it back into the holster under her jacket. She would only check them for scratches or dents when she was home. With that done, she peered down at Cato, who was moaning in pain as he held onto his shoulder. Aside from that, there was a large cut on his forehead and the right side of his jaw was swollen. She was also pretty sure his nose was broken but the blood pooling from his nose and mouth wasn’t helping much in her assessment. And that was just his face.

“You’re an idiot,” Clove finally announced in distaste, staring down at his wrecked form before kicking him hard in the gut. “And you totally deserved that,” she added superciliously as an afterthought.

“Fucking bitch!” he howled, body jerking as he clutched his gut while attempting to glare murderously at her.

Not that it affected her one bit due to how pathetic he looked—all covered in blood and bruises and lying on the ground like some broken discarded doll.

With a sigh, Clove adjusted her backpack and helped him up as much as she could. Slinging one of his arms around her shoulders so that he could rest more of his weight against her, she helped him out while he hobbled shakily at her side. Really, she fumed in exasperation. She deserved an award for all the crap he was constantly dragging her into. 

“I could have handled it,” Cato muttered under his breath once they were out of the Academy and onto the streets.

She narrowed her eyes and resisted the overwhelming urge to deck him in the face herself.

**13 and 14**

The wind howled, causing the trees lining the roads to sway dangerously.

Clove shivered and slipped down the empty streets. The cuts on her legs were stinging and her ribs ached and the heavy torrent of rain drenching her body to the bone didn’t help one bit. Hastily, she blinked back the tears as she hobbled down the road, using the walls of the buildings she passed for balance as she struggled to walk.

God, why weren't the tears stopping?! Angrily, she swiped them away roughly. What was the point of crying? It never helped. Rather, it was just a pointless activity her body indulged in when she was distressed, revealing to the world how weak she was. And Clove resented being weak.

_85, 87, 89 _

She fought back a sniffle and forced her legs to move.

There wasn’t any reason why her feet should refuse to continue walking beside the cold. She needed to find shelter as she was kicked out of her home for not being able to be top in her class for the third consecutive year.

_91, 93, 95_

Why the hell did Cato have to stay this far, anyway? Clove shivered, lungs rattling as she continued to trudge down the street. Her sodden ponytail was causing more harm than good with the way it was dripping more rainwater down her back. Fuck, she was freezing. Not to mention her toes and fingers were starting to go numb. 

_101, 103—_

Finally, 105! 

Clove inhaled shakily, trying to see past the rain splattering into her face and hastily jammed her numb digits at the doorbell. 

_Please, please be home,_ she begged inwardly, body slumping to the cold damp ground in a small wet heap at the steps. She closed her eyes, letting the iciness of the weather soak her bones. Maybe this was punishment for failing. Maybe she did deserve this. Maybe she ought to stay out here all night and-

“What the hell do you wa—_Clove?_ _What the fuck happened?”_

She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the blurry view of Cato gaping stupidly down at her on the ground. “Hi,” she muttered, squinting her eyes at the sudden brightness due to the light coming from the house.

Large hands grabbed her sides and she found herself being tossed over a shoulder with a lopsided view of Cato’s home. It wasn’t long before she found herself planted onto the bathroom floor.

“Here,” the blonde stuck out his hand with a bundle of clothes gripped between his fingers. “Get cleaned up.”

Blankly, she took it and watched the door slammed shut while her body did its best to absorb much of the heat from the bathroom. Knowing that a warm shower was just seconds away, Clove fumbled with her jacket buttons and peeled her tights off with trembling fingers before sitting down at the bottom of the bathtub.

The sensation of hot steaming water making contact with her chilled body made her curl up and she exhaled heavily, wincing when the cuts were soaked. She was almost tempted to fall asleep right there and then. However, with the idea of Cato bursting in to check on her, she speedily soaped up, grimacing at the metallic tang of blood in her mouth when she bit too hard on her bottom lip at a particular bad cut on her thigh.

In no time at all, Clove was dressed in an oversized long-sleeved shirt, which hung past her hips and a pair of shorts she supposed were Cato’s boxers. Slowly shuffling to the living room, she savoured the feeling of soft dry cotton on her bare skin in contrast to the wet rough material of her training attire.

“Oh, you’re done,” the blonde offered awkwardly, handing her a sandwich and a first-aid kit, which she took gratefully. “I thought you were drowning in the tub.”

She didn’t look at him and stared at the muted holograms of the 71st Hunger Games and their fellow tributes.

“Clovey, what happened?”

“Nothing,” she muttered and began treating the long cuts adorning her legs and the occasional tiny scratches on her arm.

She may look bad, awful even, but her opponents from earlier wouldn’t be throwing knives anytime soon, let alone be walking about in the coming days.

A rough hand grabbed her left bicep and her eyes flew to Cato’s blue ones.

“Are these from today’s ranking?” He motioned to the assortment of injuries littered all over her body.

She glared and narrowed her eyes. “So what if they are?”

He studied her and she resented him for being able to piece everything together despite giving away nothing.

“They’re wrong, you know,” he stated after a moment of them watching Caesar Flickerman and his table host commenting on the tributes from District Five. In Clove's opinion, the two tributes looked ready to keel over at any moment.

Unable to bring herself to look at him, she chewed slowly on her sandwich, fully aware that he knew that she was listening.

“You’re better than the rest,” he continued. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re deadlier than those in your year. Fuck, even some of the trainees in my year daren’t go near you after that incident with that girl who was two years older. You and your fucking knives.”

She bit back a smile and hugged her knees to her chest, mindful that they didn’t press too closely to her ribcage.

Said incident had involved pinning the girl to a wall with her knives and using her as target practice. The goal of the game being not to hit the older trainee at all, while aiming her weapons as close as possible.

That had been rather fun.

Cato shifted, running his hands through his hair in what seemed like an aggressive manner. “It’s okay not to be good at everything.” He chanced a glance at her and she met it squarely. “I’m bad at knives and a bow and arrow.”

That was unfortunately true. One afternoon, she’d taken the opportunity to see him practise with either weapons and had been immediately appalled at the lack of grace he had when handling her favoured daggers. Not to mention him shooting an arrow, which flew through the door at the Academy, missing the target by a fair distance. 

Clove snorted and slumped back into the soft leather of his couch, her aching tired body finally being able to relax now that she was warm, dry and fed.

“You’re going to win,” he declared abruptly, turning to her earnestly. “When you volunteer in the next Quarter Quell, you’re going to win and we can be neighbours in the Victor’s Village.”

Grudgingly, she gave a curt nod and a small smile, her body automatically curling towards his, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Together, they watched as Caesar Flickerman introduced the scrawny-looking female tribute from District Seven—Johanna Mason.

**15 and 16**

With a snarl, she hurled the dagger into the plastic dummy with all her might and watched in satisfaction when it shuddered from the force of the blow.

But it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t blood pooling to the ground, no flailing limbs, no gurgles of pain. Just a lifeless piece of plastic that barely moved from its original position.

Clove ground her teeth and clenched the handle of her knife between her teeth while adjusting the tightness of her ponytail. The dark tendrils that escaped were bothering her and for a moment, she considered hacking them off. But the mess that would cause and the untidiness of her hair would bother her at a later date. Retying it would just have to do.

When her dark curls were securely fastened away from her face, she grabbed four serrated daggers from the tray at her side and flung them at the four moving wooden targets with sharp precision. Each time, the image of Cato’s face was on the panels and Clove was glad to see that she hadn’t missed. Not once.

She stood by her statement. Boys were useless as hell and her best, no, _her ex-best friend_ was no better. In fact, he was the worst and she was glad she didn’t have to see him and his stupid fucking face anymore.

If he dared to approach her, she would attack him and draw first blood.

When it came to a fight, she always drew first blood. 

Just thinking about him made all the anger and hurt and all the disgusting messy emotions surface up and it was just getting her madder. Frankly, it was easier to suppress everything but hatred and rage. Now, those two on the other hand, fuelled her, gave her the drive to push herself. To be better, perfect, _deadly._

No one else would be able to guess that with her size and height, she was as capable as any other tribute from the Career Districts.

Just as she was packing up, the sounds of familiar laughter and shouts echoed through the hall and it was as though everything that existed hated her because there he was in the flesh. If she’d known that merely thinking about him would cause him to appear, she would’ve forced herself to smash her head against a wall to get amnesia, hence wiping off all memory of him.

Even now as she packed her bag with grim determination to not look at him, she could feel his stare boring through the back of her head.

If he kept up with it, she would be forced to take action and no one could blame her. Staring was rude after all.

Resolutely, she turned to leave, fully aware of the heavy weight of his gaze following after her.

But Clove should’ve known that they would cross paths again. How could they not? He was top in her year and so was she. She should’ve seen this sparring session coming a long way off.

She’d thrown the first punch, ducking when needed. Her small size giving the extra speed and agility to deal with Cato’s larger and bulkier form. However, where he lacked in deftness, he compensated with brute strength. When his fist came rushing at her head, she stumbled, vision blurring as she screamed inwardly.

It didn’t take long for him to give back as good as she gave and in no time at all, she was the one struggling to hold on for as long as she could.

Five punches later, she was out of breath, gasping for air. Clove was pretty sure she’d cracked a rib and her ankle had been twisted. But the look of apology and remorse in those blue eyes of his made her fury return with a burning vengeance.

What right did he have to look that way, anyway? She wasn’t the one who had abandoned him. She wasn’t the one with a shiny new group of friends. She wasn’t the one who had all but left her behind for something new. Who was he to give her that pitiful look?

With an indignant screech, Clove leapt to her feet, ignoring the searing pain of her bruised and battered body and charged at him, fingernails digging into his skin as she gave quick and precise jabs at his weak points. 

Together, they tumbled to the ground. Instantly, she found her footing and straddled him, a foot stomping down on one of his wrist and a hand slamming his other arm to the ground. With her free arm, she unsheathed the knife hidden in her belt and rested the jagged steel against his neck. Underneath her, Cato immediately froze, blue eyes meeting her dark ones.

Ignoring the startled barks from the instructors that weapons were certainly not allowed in this specific fight, Clove gritted her teeth, staring down at him, savouring the bewildered expression on his. With the anger boiling in her veins, dictating her senses, she pressed the blade deeper, watching the skin break from the pressure as blood began to well up from the two inch-long incision she'd laid into his skin. 

Like she’d said earlier, she would be the first to draw blood. Always.

Clove only released her hold on him when two instructors had to haul her off him with them, bellowing at her for not following the rules and so on.

It wasn’t like she cared or bothered to listen. She knew they didn’t really mind. Actions like hers were what brought future Victors from District Two into the Games. Because in the Games, there were no real rules. 

Clove turned to hobble out of the room to the infirmary, not even bothering to spare him a second glance or to admire her handiwork. Hopefully, that would teach him to stay the fuck away from her. Permanently. 

But of course, that didn’t happen when he came knocking on her door the next day. The very idea that he actually thought he had the right to come to her house rankled.

She stared at him. Stared at the stone cold expression on his face, his swelling lip, the various bruises littered around his face and the bandage peeking up from the neckline of his shirt, reminding her of the cut she gave him yesterday.

He looked awful. Good. 

“What do you want?” she demanded stiffly.

Already, her ankle was throbbing in protest from standing and she wanted nothing but to return back to her position on the couch. But now with him on her doorstep, the last thing Clove could ever do was to show signs of weakness. With a quiet but sharp inhale, she breathed through the pain and began cursing him inwardly for ruining her quiet afternoon.

It really was fucking typical of him to ruin her life.

“Clovey, I—“

She narrowed her eyes and slammed the door shut before limping back to the sofa. Trailing behind her were Cato’s muffled shouts and demands for her to open the door.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for him to start doling out threats and curses.

“Clove, if you don’t open this damned door, you’ll sorely regret it till the fucking day you die!”

As if. She scoffed and increased the volume of the hologram to drown him out. The only thing she ever regretted was ever talking to him back when they were kids.

“CLOVE! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

He really did have a good set of lungs, she mused sardonically before continuing to increase the volume of the show until the only thing she could hear was some stupid reality show about the Capitol’s wealthiest.

The sound of the front door bursting from its frame made her jump. On reflex, she hurled the knife she always kept at her side at the intruder.

Cato must have some special sixth sense when it came to her and her knives for he ducked just in time as the tip of the blade embedded itself into the wall where his head would have been. The blonde gaped at the shuddering weapon and turned to her, anger finally flashing through his blue eyes. “Fucking hell, Clove! What? You trying to kill me now?”

She shifted her jaw, eyeing his hulking form that towered over her, the rage in his eyes, the tension lining every muscle in his face and the way his hands were clenched into fists. They were shaking, she noted—probably from suppressing the urge to strangle her.

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

“NO!” He barked.

Clove glowered and with all the strength she could muster, she heaved herself up and stared him down. Never mind that she barely reached five feet and three inches and he was pushing close to six foot three. She wasn’t scared of him.

She wasn’t scared of anyone.

With a calculated move that would surely send him away, she slapped him. Hard. Right across his cheek.

Cato’s eyes darkened and he roared, slamming his fist into the wall just beside her right ear. Plaster and other debris rained down to the ground but neither of them paid that any mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped, arms grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly until her teeth rattled.

_Her? He thought the problem was her?!_

Utterly incensed, she kicked roughly at his shin with her uninjured leg. “Me?” she shrieked. “No! What the fuck is wrong with _you?”_

Cato released her and without waiting, she hissed and pounced. Together, they crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Never one to be deterred, she took every opportunity to pick at his weak spots. The blossoming bruise on his cheek? She jabbed her elbow there. A stitched up cut? She scratched at it. A swollen jaw? She gave a tight punch. She would admit that she even yanked hard at his hair. She wasn't above playing dirty.

Much to his credit, Cato didn’t hold back as he grunted in pain and hit at her already bruised ribs. A particular hard pressure in her gut caused all the air in her lungs to escape and she coughed and sputtered. Sensing the opportunity, the blonde pushed her off him as he too, coughed from the effort needed to both defend and attack.

Clove winced when she landed awkwardly on her injured ankle and quickly blinked the tears away.

Fucking Cato and his usual pigheaded attempts to do fuck knows what. 

Gingerly, she settled her back to the floor, letting her body take a respite from the second physical fight she partook in less than twenty-four hours. Whoever said she wasn’t ready for the Games clearly hadn’t seen her in action when she was at her best.

Truthfully, she was winded and now that the adrenaline and rage had faded, the pain and aches came back with a startling degree that made her want to knock herself out into oblivion.

“Are you done throwing your tantrum?” Cato questioned tightly from where he was lying a few inches away.

She took great pleasure that he sounded as though he was hurting badly. Good. The bastard deserved it.

“No, I don’t want you here,” she stated coldly. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Some other friends to hang around with?”

The blonde groaned. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know I messed up but—“ he paused and from where she was, she swore that she could literally hear him swallow.

“What?” Clove pressed, eyes fixated on the ceiling as she waited impatiently and yet apprehensively.

This wasn’t what she had been expecting. She figured that he would yell, break more furniture, yell at her again and then have a bigger tantrum before leaving. But here he was. Apologising. Apologies weren't something she ever heard from him, or anyone from District Two, really. Even she can't recall the last time she apologised. 

Silence reigned and Clove was more than ready to throw him out of the house when he spoke quietly. “I missed having you around, okay? You’re my best friend and I am... sorry... with the way I treated you.”

Slowly, she turned her head, wincing from the very movement so she could meet his blue eyes.

Blue eyes that were sincere and almost pleading.

“Friends?” He raised his palm towards her, waiting for her to shake it and accept the olive branch that was offered.

Clove scoffed and slapped his palm away. “Get us to the infirmary and then we’ll talk,” she snapped. 

She didn't miss the relief falling over his face or the hesitant grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. Neither does she miss the way the tightness in her chest-that has utterly no correlation with her injuries-start to dissipate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on your thoughts and kudos may not be necessary but they are much appreciated as always.


	2. kindle

**16 and 17 – Present Day**

“I’ll finally be volunteering this year.”

“I know. It’s all we talked about growing up, remember?” 

She eyed him from across her room, studying him carefully from his tone. He sounded reverent, _ awed _ and yet, there was a harsh edge to it. Picking up her favourite dagger from her bedside table, Clove, traced her index finger along the sharpened side and continued, “And then, it’ll be my turn next year." 

“I know that,” Cato shot back, throwing her a frown. “But the idea of actually _ being _ in the Games-I mean,” he paused, running his hands through his short blond locks, causing them to stick up messily, “the day is _ finally _ here.”

“Technically, it’s not here. Reaping Day is tomorrow,” she corrected and smirked when he cast her a dry irritated look. “Anyway, what about it? There’s no question that you’ll win. Our trainers have been badgering for you to volunteer since last year and now, they’ll finally shut up.” 

It was true. Among the boys in his year and the year above, Cato was easily the tallest and biggest, even surpassing the highest ranked eighteen-year-old male trainee. In addition, with him being rather easy on the eyes—all blond and blue eyed—the Capitol citizens would surely favour him, hence, easily granting his need for Sponsors. It was safe to say there wasn’t any doubt the high probability of him winning the 74th Hunger Games.

“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the side of his jaw as he crossed the room, fingers playing wtih the various knick-knacks that cluttered her dresser before putting them back. “You’re coming over tonight?”

“The pre-game special?” Clove arched a brow. “Of course. It’s our tradition and I’m not the type to forgo it,” she added slyly, knowing the blond would get the not-so-subtle jibe.

As expected, Cato frowned, cheeks turning a dull red as he glanced away in what seemed like a sheepish manner. “I said I was sorry, remember?”

The pre-game special was always held the night before the Reaping, showing recaps of past Victors, (which most were Capitol favourites), highlights of the Games comprising memorable, violent kills and unexpected twists. It had been their annual ritual to catch it together and they’ve followed it until the Big Fight of last year.

“I know,” she smirked meanly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it again. It’s not often I hear you _ apologising _.”

“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” Cato growled. With a quick movement, he hurled a book in her direction, which she nimbly dodged, moving to the right of the bed just as the projectile sailed pass, slamming into the wall.

“It’s not like you didn’t know after all these years,” she taunted, lips curling into a vindictive grin.

Cato responded with a sharp lunge. A large hand grasped her ankle, jerking her to the ground, causing her to land head-first on the ground—a movement that left her winded. With her breath knocked out of her lungs, Clove was momentarily stunned, but her years of training kicked in and within seconds, Clove tensed, every part of her primed for a fight as she scrambled up. Instead of launching her own counterattack, she paused and observed him carefully.

When it came to Cato, or someone that was generally bigger than her, she knew it was best not to make the first move until she got a better grip on the situation. And with the anticipation and smugness seeping through his blue eyes as he loomed over her, Cato just wanted to show-off.

_ Idiot _, she thought and hooked her ankles around his leg and tugged with all her might.

However, she’d miscalculated the stability of his stance and Cato stumbled, losing his balance. It should be funny seeing his bulky form attempting its best not to trip over her. Nonetheless, the imminent threat of him falling on top of her was anything but.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she yelled, struggling to shift her form away but her flailing legs caught onto his calves and that was all it took.

“Fuck!”

He crashed down, putting her in the unfortunate position of cushioning his fall. His body slammed into hers, crushing her under his weight and this time, Clove was pretty sure she was going to die. She couldn’t breathe. Not when one of his arms was applying pressure across her neck, cutting off her airway.

She was going to murder him. Painfully and slowly.

Fortunately, he shifted, bringing his forearms away to push himself up. Greedily, she sucked in huge mouthfuls of air and jabbed her fingers at his neck in retribution, forcing him away. “Move off, you bastard!” she hissed and began to shove at his gasping and winded form.

Cato coughed and grabbed her wrists in each hand. “Stop it!”

Murderously, she glared at him and wrenched a knee up, hoping it would make contact with the area that was sure to leave him choking and moaning in pain (she’d done it before and it had been rather funny to watch). Alas, the blond must have foreseen that for he quickly adjusted his frame over her, laughing victoriously when she hissed and spat in frustration.

“Not this time,” he crowed, laughing as he altered his position.

By now, he was practically straddling her, a knee on either side of her waist, calloused palms pinning her wrists down to the ground as he gloated above her. God, how she longed to wipe that look off his face. Preferably with her fists. 

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” She howled, mustering all her strength to kick at him for her legs were the only limbs that weren’t restrained. And no, Cato sitting on her thighs didn’t count. Fuck, he was such a fatass. 

“Say you’re sorry,” he taunted mockingly, angular features twisting into triumph and merriment.

“NO!”

“Then too fucking bad, _ Clovey _.”

Oh how she hated that damn nickname! She glowered up at him, green eyes promising Pain and Misery if he didn’t get the fuck off. Undaunted, Cato snorted as the corner of his mouth tugged up into an all-too familiar sneer.

_ He really was enjoying this _, she decided grudgingly and huffed. It wasn’t often that he got the upper hand over her in their long years of knowing each other.

“Fine,” she conceded stiffly. From the look on his face, Clove knew that he would be willing to sit on her until she gave in. She sniffed, tilting her chin up. “I see that I can be a bitch and I shall do my best to tone it down in the future.”

Cato scoffed. “That wasn’t even an apology.”

“Well, that’s all I’m going to say, so you can take it or leave it!”

He chuckled, countenance softening as he gazed down at her and—there _ it _ was. Clove swallowed, catching sight of that _ look _ in his gunmetal blue eyes. The look she could never decipher even if her life depended on it.

Clove liked to think she had a gift for reading people. To see through facades and social niceties with ease, to always predict another’s action or motive. But of course, this didn’t come without a price, hence, the distrustful difficult nature she was infamous for.

When it came to Cato, things weren’t any different. She’d known him the longest and she knew all his tells, could even read him like a book. Clove knew when to stay away or how to calm him down when he was in one of his violent temper fits or tantrums (he was astonishingly good at that, as it turned out). She knew when to avoid him when he was being ridiculously melancholic (she doesn’t have the patience to deal with that for fuck’s sake) and delighting with him in occasions when he triumphed over something or someone.

Her best friend was what she disdainfully considered an open book who wore his emotions all over his face. She could read every frown, every sneer—every mood of his, she knew what they all meant. And this was without his tells. In short, she can confidently claim that she knew him even better than he knew himself.

Until now.

Until that specific look in his eyes.

It’d been appearing more recent as of late and Clove hated that she didn’t know what to make of it. She hated to admit that she didn’t understand what that look meant. However, if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that Cato didn’t understand it either. He probably didn’t even know that he’d been displaying such a look.

“Cato,” she began slowly as he inched closer. 

“What?” he breathed out, fingers loosening their grip around her wrists.

“Get. The. Fuck. Off.” 

With a smirk, he relented, all trace of that cryptic glance disappearing as he heaved himself off. For added measure, Clove jabbed her elbows into his gut and batted his hands away before sitting up. She didn’t need help. She could manage fine on her own. But what she didn’t expect to feel was longing for that softness in his eyes to make a comeback. It’d been unfamiliar but Clove had to admit that such a look suited him despite his brutish temperament. 

“What’s that look on your face for?” 

She blinked and hastily ducked her head to brush her brown curls away from her face. “Nothing,” she snapped waspishly. “You’re just fucking heavy.”

Cato rolled his eyes. “As if District Two would send scrawny underfed tributes to the Games.”

She did have to concede to that.

“You might be an exception to that though,” the blond teased, eyes gleaming. “You are a little on the scrawny side, _ Clovey. _” 

She jammed her fist to the soft spot under his jaw. “Oh, shut up.” 

Later that night, they’re on his couch as Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith started to blab on and on about the past Games.

The programme started off with a recap of how the most recent Victor—a male tribute from their district—had won by clubbing his counterpart in the head with a brick.

“He could’ve made it more flashy,” Cato commented when the winning act was shown once more on the screen. “It’s just a brick to a head. How boring. Really, how much damage can that cause?” 

Clove shot him a withering look, wondering if she ought to club him with a brick to make a point. “_ No _, winning is the priority. Bragging and dragging it out is unnecessary. As long as your victim is dead—well, that’s all that matters. You don’t want to end up dying because you got distracted.”

She reached for the plate of biscuits resting on the small table on her left and graced him with a haughty glance. “I trust that you won’t do anything as stupid as _ that _. Because I might just beat you to death myself.” 

He laughed, an arm reaching around her to swipe a biscuit. “Bloodthirsty little thing.” 

Ignoring the way her heart seem to twist in her chest from how fond he sounded, she turned her attention back to the programme. 

Now, Johanna Mason from District Seven was shown and Templesmith was repeating footage from the 71st Games where she’d won unexpectedly. Her façade of being weak and helpless had been a well-cultivated cover, allowing the stronger tributes to get rid of each other before she herself could strike.

It had been rather ingenious, Clove had to admit.

“You do realise that Brutus could be your Mentor,” she spoke up after a while, biting into another biscuit, delighting at the look of disgust that appeared on Cato’s face. “But just think about it; same time next year, your face is going to appear right on the screen.”

Cato grinned, blue eyes crinkling up. “Yeah. I could be your Mentor.” 

She scrunched up her face. “Pass, I’ll rather have Enobaria. Besides, by then you’ll be too busy with your fan club.” 

“Fan club? As if.”

“You say that now,” she pointed out loftily, hoping that she sounded arrogantly nonchalant and not disgustingly insecure. “Remember last year?” 

Automatically, Cato scowled, body tensing as he turned to throw her a dark glare. “Stop fucking throwing that in my face, will you?”

“No.”

“Bitch,” he bit out. 

She didn’t look at him but instead, focused her eyes unseeingly at the hosts on the screen who were now discussing the various Arenas the Capitol had used in the past.

Lacking intelligence wasn’t a term used to describe her. Clove knew their friendship would ultimately come to an end. It wasn’t a guess, but a prediction. Over the years, she’d heard talk in the girls’ bathrooms at the Academy, where female trainees of all ages had discussed Cato’s appearance and physique. Clove knows her best friend won’t be lacking female attention or friends when he inevitably became this year’s victor. It was a tough pill to swallow, one that she’d already accepted. Reluctantly or not. 

“Well, what about you?” he shot back accusingly.

“What about me?”

“Where’s that shadow of yours?”

Clove wrinkled her nose at the hard look sent her way. And then it clicked. “You mean _ Pius? _” She started to laugh. “He’s like some stupid overgrown puppy that just won’t fuck off. What about him, anyway?”

“You broke his nose, threatened to emasculate him physically and ever since, he hasn’t left you alone,” the blond stated in a mildly deceptive tone as he stretched his legs out.

“So what? Pius is just harmless. He’s stupid and apparently a sucker for punishment,” she scorned and slung a throw pillow into his face, enjoying the look of irritation flashing across his handsome features. By now, they’ve dropped all pretence at actually focusing on watching the pre-game specials. “What about your _ girlfriend? _”

Cato snorted, getting even as he jabbed her in the gut with his fist that sent her gasping for air. “She’s not my girlfriend."

“Oh?” Clove raised her brows and allowed a sly grin to tug on a corner of her mouth. “That’s not what Aelia was saying in the girls’ locker room just the other day.” 

Was that a tinge of red on his cheeks? 

“Fuck that, she’s just an acquaintance.”

She rolled her eyes, correcting her earlier statement, “Fine, an _ acquaintance _ .” She smirked, throwing a side glance at him before adding, “Are you sure you don’t want to spend your last night home getting your dick wet with your _ acquaintance _?”

Her best friend’s reaction was instantaneous.

Cato choked, lungs expelling out gut-wrenching coughs as his ears turned red. “What the fuck?!” He shoved her, sending her to the opposite end of the couch, eyes resolutely avoiding hers. “What the actual fuck, Clove! Don’t fucking talk like that!” 

It never ceased to amaze her how embarrassed and horrified Cato got when she brought up topics of a sexual nature. What? Did he actually thought she didn’t knew how human bodies worked? It was as though he thought she was an utter innocent, which was a blatant falsehood. She was sixteen, afterall. 

Cackling, Clove shifted back to her original spot on the couch and bit into a biscuit, whereas the blond visibly struggled to get his bearings back. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve heard-”

Was he really playing that game? 

“So the gossip that you like a little pain when-” Cato’s hand clamped over her mouth and Clove grinned, enjoying the bright red flush creeping up his neck. “Girls talk too, you know,” she taunted once she shoved his hand away.

_ “Shut the fuck up, Clove!” _he moaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Just. Stop. Talking.” 

Smugly, she obliged him and turned her attention back to the screen. When Cato shifted closer to her, an arm draping around her shoulders, she does not comment. 

But in all honesty, she was just glad that he’d rather spend his last night here. With her.

Reaping Day wasn’t something new to Clove.

Today would have marked her fifth year being part of the whole ordeal. She should be bored, mind droning off at their Capitol Escort giving the annual welcome and speech, (which was basically an exact copy of last year’s speech) But the actual knowledge that Cato, her best and only friend, Cato was volunteering for this year’s Games made her gut churn, made her restless, made her ache for something to put off this unease she felt.

Because the truth was, no matter how lethal he was, or how high his chances of winning, there was a probability of him never making it back. That today could be the last day she saw him alive in person. 

“…And now to pick our brave young tributes!”

This was it. 

She stood up straighter, eyes scanning the uniformed crowd on her left for Cato. The blonde was smirking in triumph, arms crossed over his chest as the boys clustered around started to quietly congratulate him. 

Somehow, he must have felt her eyes on him for he met her gaze, giving her a curt nod and flashing a small smile, a smile that was wholly for her and her alone.

Her palms became sweaty and anxiety was a lead ball in her stomach. In a brief moment of utter insanity, Clove debated on telling him to change his mind on volunteering, to stay out of the Games, to not risk his life as entertainment for the Capitol. Surely there were better ways to bring glory and pride to their district.

She bit her lip, fingernails digging into her palms before a hand reached for the steadying weight of the dagger she’d sneaked in. Once more, she craned her neck, her height almost making it impossible to catch another glimpse of the blond. 

Did she not have any faith in Cato’s skills? His ability to kill and stay alive? _ Fuck _. Clove shook her head and angled her head back to the front. There wasn’t any point indulging in traitorous thoughts like hers. As long he didn’t give in to his temper, he would be fine. Cato would win. He would come back.

Because District Two didn’t believe in out-dated social etiquette that made women out to be the weaker sex, everyone was treated equally—_ fairly _, there was no ‘ladies first’ policy here. What mattered was strength, cunning, skill, ferocity in the Arena and most of all, how willing tributes were to kill.

As expected, Cato volunteered when a male tribute was picked at random. Instead of the solemn sombre silence that was wont to be followed in the other lesser Districts, claps and cheers resounded around the square as he made his way up to the podium.

She wasn’t surprised when no one else volunteered. It was as though an unspoken agreement that Cato would be the male tribute this was was already in place. Already, Clove could hear the unspoken words that would inevitably carry through the crowd. With Cato representing them, their district had a good strong chance of winning this year once more. It didn’t matter their district already had the highest number of victors from the past seventy-three games. Another victor bringing honour and pride to District Two was always welcomed. 

Abruptly, everything turned silent and Clove stiffened at the sudden weight of everyone’s eyes on her. Around her, the girls shifted, stepping away from her. Her mind struggled. No, it couldn’t be. There was no way this was happening to her today of all days. This had to be a dream—a nightmare of her own making. 

She raised her eyes, meeting Cato’s. From the way his jaw went slack and the widening of his eyes, the tendons in his neck straining, she knew this wasn’t a nightmare.

This was reality. Hers, to be precise.

In her chest, her heart pounded frantically as she waited for another girl to volunteer. Surely there was a volunteer. Surely there was someone _ else _, not her. Anyone but her. Because if she was to be the female tribute for this year, there was a high chance that she would have to kill- 

“Come on up, dearie!” The Escort encouraged cheerfully, her purple tinted skin shimmering under the glare of the sun as she beckoned her up.

Whispers began to surround her as she took her first steps out of the crowd. 

“Aren’t they friends?”

“Not just _ friends _, they’re best friends!”

“Rather her than me—just look at the size of him!” 

Clove gritted her teeth, shouldering her way past the cowards—who probably didn’t volunteer because they hated her and would rather see her be killed by her own best friend (that was delicious irony, she was sure)—and up the podium. It was either that, or that they were all relieved that they didn’t have to be the ones to face Cato in the Arena—it wouldn’t take a genius to guess who would emerge from that encounter alive.

It was a fifty-fifty, she mused sardonically, moving to stand beside the Escort who was beaming proudly at her. Or perhaps a forty-sixty in favour of the latter.

Maybe, if she was lucky, she would have a chance to slit the Escort’s throat first. She’d never seen blood spill from a purple-coloured neck. And no, a neck turned purple from strangulation doesn’t count. 

As the woman began her prattle, Clove stared straight ahead. The knowledge that she was in public and that cameras were present were the only two factors withholding her impending breakdown. She daren’t even think about Cato or how he was clearly no longer as smug or elated as before. She doesn’t even dare to _ look _ at him. 

This wasn’t supposed to be her year, her brain screamed and her fingers trembled, itching for the familiar handles of her knives and the cool steel of their blades. If only she could haul out the one sheathed in her holster.

Despite the disconnect of her senses and her surroundings, Clove knew she couldn’t react here. Not when they were taping her reactions. Contrary to popular opinion, the Games started _ here _, not in the Arena. If she was to make it, she couldn’t let out a single sign of weakness. People were watching, and that included the other Career tributes and potential Sponsors. Not to mention, the Gamemakers. 

Her stomach churned, the sensation almost unbearable but Clove forced an impassive front, not focusing on anyone or anything. Till now, she didn’t risk taking even a tiny peek at her best friend; she was sure to visibly react. And she can’t have that. Starting from now, she had to play the games.

Furthermore, there wasn’t any doubt what Cato would do or say either. Between the both of them, he had always been the looser cannon.

“I present to you, your Tributes from District Two for the 74th Hunger Games!”

As though on autopilot, Clove tilted her chin defiantly, facing down the crowd with a carefully crafted smirk on her lips that showed none of her inner turmoil. They couldn’t see. She couldn’t let them see. She couldn’t let anyone see how she was barely holding everything together. Hopefully, Cato would take her cue and do the same.

Mutedly, she could hear the chants of their names, of their district, of people cheering and clapping. Her prowess with blades and agile fighting style along with Cato’s unbeatable strength and dexterity with swords had made them favourites. With the both of them representing their district, there surely had to be a victor this year. 

Numbly, she followed after the Escort who led them into District Two’s town hall, ensuring her strides were steady and confident. Clove would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t aware of Cato trailing behind her. She could feel him. Feel the burden that were his eyes boring through the back of her head, the heat emanating from his frame from being so close, smell the achingly familiar scent of him—musk, the aftershave he uses in the morning, sweat and something that was uniquely him. Most of all, she swore she could feel his hand brushing against her fingers as they walked—as though he was reaching out, ensuring some semblance of _ touch _ between them.

Call her a coward, but Clove still didn’t—couldn’t—look at him. She couldn’t bear it.

Perhaps in her mind, the idea of not being able to see him was somehow a way for her to pretend that none of this was real. That the boy behind her wasn’t Cato. That she didn’t have to contemplate the fucking twisted idea of killing her best friend or forcing him to do the same to her. That only either of them would make it back home in about a month’s time. 

However, all illusions were shattered when they deposited her at her holding room. She had made the mistake of looking up and there he was in front of her. Not behind. But in front. With the way his eyes drilled a hole into her face, Clove could no longer pretend this wasn’t happening. Even more so with that tortured look on his face. Gone were the arrogance and self-satisfied aspect on his features. All that was left was horror and sorrow, a bone deep pain that could never go away and Clove _ hated _ him for ruining her fantasy.

It was only when she was all alone in the holding room that she started to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos will always be appreciated <3


	3. luminous

“I believe you are the one with the knives.”

If this were any other year, Clove would’ve responded with a smirk and demonstrated her skills by flinging a knife somewhere with deadly accuracy. But it wasn’t. Instead, she fixed her gaze straight ahead, right at the female Mentor.

“So what if I was?” She snarled tersely.

Enobaria smiled. It was a smile with too much teeth.

“I’ve been keeping up with the trainees,” she said, leaning back in her well-polished leather chair. “You,” she gestured with her head before shifting her eyes towards Cato, “and him in particular.” The former Victor shrugged, sharpened teeth glinting. “Impressive.”

Neither of them responded.

Clove eyed the people in the room as her fingers slid across the ice-cold steel of the dagger she’d managed to sneak in. The weapon was the only thing bringing her some semblance of comfort and feeling of security—_ control _in this fucked up situation.

Their Capitol Escort stood at the far corner, and Clove guessed the purple-skinned woman was intimidated to be in the same room as four killers, two of which were infamous for their brutality in the Arena. Where Brutus was blatantly ignoring them in favour of the desserts on the table, Enobaria was studying her with a perceptive gleam in her dark eyes that left Clove feeling all too vulnerable. She shifted, eyes landing on Cato, only to realise his gaze was already on her.

Her chest tightened and she quickly glanced away.

“Now, you may be tiny, small and that is an advantage for you, girl,” Enobaria began, getting right down to business. “The other tributes, especially the other Careers would underestimate you. That’s a point in your favour.” 

Right, tell her something she didn’t know.

“You, the others might target first,” Enobaria directed to Cato. “You can either pick everyone off on your own or you could do an alliance with the other Career tributes. I suggest the latter. Strength in numbers and all that. And when the time comes, you can rid yourselves of the alliance and head straight to victory.” 

The unsaid words echoed around the train compartment.

For if no one else was left in the Arena, and with the alliance gone, that would leave her and Cato the last ones standing— Well, Clove didn’t even want to think about _ that _. From the way her district partner tensed, brows pulled into a harsh scowl, it was blatantly obvious he got the implied message too.

Knowing that he wouldn’t bother with an acknowledgement, she took the first step despite the thick fog descending over her mind. “Cato and I will discuss it later—“

“No,” Enboria cut in, “We have to decide _ now _.”

“NO, WE’RE NOT!” The blond tribute roared, his hulking form thrumming with barely restrained rage before he stormed out of the train compartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

Clove pressed her lips together. She’d been wondering how long it would take for Cato to snap, for he’d never been known to keep it together this long. Although, she did have to give him some credit; it was only now that they were out of the public eye that he’d dropped the arrogant and triumphant façade and given in to his temper.

Enobaria snorted and rolled her eyes, muttering something degrading under her breath, and Clove would’ve stuck up for her friend if she had been feeling anything but utter despair and rage.

No. She had to think clearly; she didn’t have the luxury to deal with the mess that were her tangled emotions. Not when her blond counterpart was on the verge of losing it. She had to keep it together for herself and for Cato—for _ them _.

“I’ll talk to him,” she muttered, not sparing anyone else a glance as she swept out of the room.

As she exited the train compartment, she paused, stopping at the adjacent window.

How had it all come to this? How had _ they _ become this? She stared at the glass, at the dreary scenery flashing pass at breakneck speed before closing her eyes. Hell, she couldn’t even feel the pain of her nails embedding into the flesh of her palms.

How had she not anticipated the very possibility of being picked? 

Clove eyes snapped open. Clenching her jaw, she exhaled slowly. There wasn’t any point in lamenting. Everything was set in motion and there was no alternative route. She and Cato were going to enter the Games together whether they liked it or not. And she would see to it that he won.

Not bothering to knock, she entered Cato’s room, a foot stepping over the threshold as a decorative marble statue made impact with the wall a few inches away from her head.

“Get. Out.”

“Cato…” she began, voice trailing off once she’d taken note of the destruction that is his room.

Shards and fragments of décor and wood splinters littered the floor. The dresser was in shambles, the sheets and curtains were ripped and shredded beyond repair and in short, not a single piece of furniture was left intact. Even the walls weren’t left untouched, marred by the severe holes punched through the tacky wallpaper. Truthfully, she wasn’t too surprised at the physical display of his temper. 

Arching a brow at Cato’s heaving form in the center of the room, she shut the door behind her. His anger was far from mellowed and admittedly, Clove was taking a hell of a gamble by approaching him when he was in this state. 

“Fucking hell. What did you do? Put your fists through every single item here?”

Her best friend narrowed his gaze as he turned. “What the fuck do you want?” he demanded, voice rough and trembling with barely restrained fury.

“Physically? Nothing!” she snapped. “Just for you to stop acting like a fucking child!”

If it was possible, the blond tribute became even more incensed. “You think I’m acting like a child?” he hissed, taking predatory steps towards her.

He hurled another glass figurine at the window and she narrowed her eyes as it exploded into millions of shimmering pieces. “What’s this, then, huh?” he jeered, grabbing a toppled lamp and snapping it into two. Using half as a makeshift-bat, he raised it and began smashing everything in sight.

It is only when a chair is thrown in her direction that Clove finally decided to take action. Without any hesitation whatsoever, she slapped him viciously across his face and shoved the tip of her dagger under his jaw. 

“Are you done? You going on a rampage isn’t going to help us!” she snarled. 

He froze, eyes gleaming with something violent and unpredictable. When the corner of his mouth was pulled into a sadistic twist, he surged closer towards the blade. With the pressure applied, the skin broke and a bead of blood welled up. 

Clove didn’t move but raised her chin defiantly, staying silent. She didn’t have to wait long before he reacted.

“Help us? What don’t you get, Clove? Nothing can help us!” Cato bared his teeth and batted her hand away as though it was a mere fly.

In two steps, he was in front of her, knife in his grip with the end aimed in her direction. Cursing inwardly for losing her knife, she clenched her jaw and darted her eyes between Cato and the weapon. If it were anyone else pointing her own blade against her, she would’ve beat the person into the ground, only relenting when her opponent was close to death. 

“I won’t do it,” he rasped hoarsely, eyes wild as he shook his head. “I won’t.”

“What?”

The blond tribute shifted his jaw as he waved the blade threateningly in her direction “I mean it. I won’t do it. I won’t be the one to kill you.”

There it was. Ever since she’d left District Two, no—ever since her name was announced, Clove had avoided voicing their inevitable fate. Perhaps it was silly of her to think that by not verbally mentioning it, she could pretend and wish it away. But with it stated so candidly—that only one of them would be making it out of the Arena alive—her rose-tinted glasses were shattered.

God, she hated him for saying that so bluntly. 

“You have to,” she said quietly but firmly, daring him to contradict her. “And you will. I know you’ll make it quick and painless and—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he roared, the vein in his forehead throbbing prominently.

Clove ignored him. “—you’ll be our Victor for this year’s Games. As it should be.”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Cato lunged, hands slamming her against the wall, the manner in which her body landing against the windows befitting a discarded rag doll. The length of his form crowded her as he growled into her face. “I _ won’t _ and that’s final.” 

She glared up at him, brain rattling from the impact of her head against the glass. “You have to. The others won’t be as merciful.”

He shook his head, in a manner that was almost frantic. “You aren’t supposed to be _ here _."

“But I am.”

“How are you so fucking calm about this?” he barked, fingers digging into the bones of her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the hollow space at her throat. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Clove!”

She shoved at him, fists pounding against the broad expanse of his chest. “Don’t you think I know that?” she hissed, dark eyes flashing. “But wake up, Cato! We’re in the Games and there’s nothing you can do about it. One of us is only going to leave that Arena alive and it’s certainly not going to be me!”

“Who says so?” he demanded.

Licking her lips, Clove avoided his eyes. How can she articulate the consequences she had to live with if she won? Because if she did win the Games, that would mean Cato was dead and she would be all alone, that it would’ve been her to…end him—she couldn’t see anyone else getting the better of him. It would be her.

And between the both of them, Cato was the one who deserved to win. He had his family, friends and an actual life. She, on the other hand? Clove pursed her mouth and glanced away. She had no one. No one would care if she died—except him. But he would get over it eventually. 

Never one to get all deep and mushy, she’d always preferred to vent out the burden of her feelings through training or picking fights with other trainees. Hence, the idea of voicing out the unrest in her thoughts was more than she could bear.

“So?” he pressed, mouth twisting into a derisive, self-deprecating smirk.

Pursing her lips, Clove refused to rise to the bait. She was tired—_ drained _. In addition, grappling with the fact that she would be dead in a matter of weeks didn’t help. She shifted, boots crushing the fragments of debris on the ground and lifted her eyes.

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” she muttered.

“Well, we are, since you barged in—“

“I don’t want us to fight,” she interrupted haltingly and Cato dropped his hands, releasing her. “Not when either of us could be dead in less than a month.”

He opened his mouth, sparks in his eyes and she trudged on, tone almost pleading, “Let’s just get through everything—the chariot rides, the training, the interviews, all of it. Just do what we’re here for and get rid of the weaker tributes. Or inspire fear into them. You can’t deny and say you won’t enjoy that.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he moved away to pace around the room, resembling some agitated caged animal.

Taking it as a sign of encouragement that he wasn’t continuing his tantrum fit, Clove continued, “We’re in the Games and you _ know _ it starts here. Not in the Arena. Every move we make, every word we say…they’re all analysed to a fault. We have to work as a team, show that District Two isn’t one to be underestimated or messed with.” Adding a sly grin, she tilted her head tauntingly. “And who better than you and I to show that?”

Stopping abruptly from his pacing, he looked at her as a reluctant smile formed on his mouth. However, there was no mistaking the torment lining his face.

“Yeah, what about you and I?”

She paused, stomach shrinking. She would be an idiot not to understand what he was referring to. “We’ll just…cross that bridge when we get there,” she said, giving him a hopeless little shrug. “But for now, there isn’t a point thinking about it.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up. “Since when did you get so practical and level-headed?” he mocked and Clove slid around the room to retrieve her blade that he’d dropped earlier. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?” 

“You’re kidding,” she snorted. “_ You’re _ the bratty kid. How exactly is that rational and level-headed?” 

“Funny,” he deadpanned, flashing her a small smirk—a real one, she noted with a tiny hint of relief. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. You still look like a tiny twig.”

Scoffing, she pitched her dagger right in his direction just as Cato ducked (he really must have some instinct when it came to her and her knives) When the six-inch blade embedded itself into the wall, he laughed obnoxiously.

“Temper, temper,” he jested, flashing an assured-looking grin.

Ignoring him, she gestured to his bloodied fists and the small shallow wound under his jaw from her blade. “You should get that cleaned up.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off and scratched at the back of his neck, smearing sticky congealed blood along his collar. “You too.” He motioned to her face and she blinked at the feel of a few shallow cuts on her cheek. Huh, she hadn’t even realised when she’d gotten them. 

Huffing, she scowled. It was his fault after all. Him and his stupid tantrums that always involved glass.

Loathed as she was for him to have one of his temper fits now, she was both thankful for it and him. It’d ultimately forced her to focus on the bigger picture at hand—the Games. Lamenting about her unavoidable fate wouldn’t help. She had to direct her attention to surviving, to ensure that Cato would emerge the Victor.

Stalking towards her knife, Clove yanked it out, sheathing it back into the holster around her waist. “See you later, dumbass,” she called out, a foot already out of the room. Knowing Cato and the damage done to himself, it would be a while before she saw him again. Glass and wood splinters were unfortunately a bitch to pull out of skin. Perhaps, if she was a better person and friend, she would’ve offered to help. 

But that wasn’t how their friendship worked. 

“Clove?”

She paused, turning to look at him over her shoulder. 

His blue eyes were earnest. “I…Don’t die, okay?” 

Hastily, she flicked her gaze away, leaving the room without a word. How stupid and ignorant could Cato be to ask that of her? It was an impossible request and they both knew it.

Resolutely, she pressed on, slamming the door shut, only to find herself stopping short at their Mentor waiting along the corridor. 

Clove narrowed her eyes and tensed, forcing her features to remain neutral. How long had Enobaira been standing there? More importantly, how much had she heard? Were their chances in the Games already ruined before they could enter the Arena? 

The former Victor had won by being vicious and cruel, but she’d also exhibited a Machiavellian personality. Which, was something Clove was fully aware and cautious of. Furthermore, she knew supplies and Sponsors would be given to the more deserving tribute in their pair. Clove wouldn’t be surprised if she was to learn that the older woman had already schemed and had plans in motion about their fates now. 

Before she could react, Enobaria dove right in. “You seem like a smart girl. Let me give you some advice,” she snapped, a toned arm reaching out to grab Clove’s wrist in a vice-like grip. “And I suggest you heed it.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she struggled to suppress the urge to wrench her hand away. “What?” Clove arched a brow, “Some cosmetic surgery advice for my teeth?”

Enobaria grinned, lips parting to show off the infamous shark-like teeth as she took a step closer. For the briefest of moments, Clove wondered if the female victor would tear into her throat with those sharpened fangs just for the barb.

“Don’t let sentiment get in the way of survival.”

The Capitol was as beautiful as it was gaudy.

Filled with people who appeared more alien than human and buildings that looked as though they reached the sky, Clove secretly longed for the familiarity of District Two. Here in the Capitol, she felt out of place, an attraction for the Capitol citizens to gawk at. She hated it. 

Due to District Two being closer in distance to the Capitol, they’ve reached their quarters first and had an extra night to themselves before everything officially began. 

As of now, they were lounging around, watching the telecast of the Reapings and she’d lost the bet to Cato that Caesar Flickerman’s hair would be green. No, this year, he just had to have blue hair. As a result of losing, Cato had taken possession of her blade and she resented how bereft she felt without it. 

To toy with her, his hands turned the weapon over, fingers tracing the blade before waving it in her direction whenever he wanted attention. She fumed, glaring at him from the corner of her eyes. Despite his eyes on the screen, a smug smirk began to creep on his face whenever she grumbled something under her breath.

_ Bastard _, she cursed inwardly. “Cato,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Give it back now.” 

“No.”

As if to taunt her further, he ran the tip of the dagger along the side of his jaw, daring her to snatch it back. She scoffed. Like she would. Knowing him, it would lead to a wrestling match that she’d inevitably lose. Being squashed and on her back wasn’t something she was looking forward to this evening anyway.

Irritatedly, she puffed out a breath and shifted on the plush velvet of the couch, stretching her legs across his thighs and dug her heels dangerously close to the area near his groin. If she thought her actions were going to provoke him, it did the opposite. Cato merely gave her a side glance, smirk widening while arching a brow in wry amusement as if to say _ ‘Really?’. _

Scowl deepening, she turned away, digits absentmindedly running over the silk of the shirt provided by the Capitol. She’d never worn silk before and Clove can admittedly say that she abhorred it. It was too soft, too clingy, too..._ feminine _. She wasn’t feminine—she was anything but that.

Darting her eyes back to the screen, she rolled her eyes as Caesar Flickerman continued prattling on about the importance of the Games, its history and rules. For fuck’s sake, she clenched her fists. What sort of idiot didn’t know about the Games and its fucking rules?

Maybe after she slit the throat of their Escort, she could go after him next. Surely, someone who loved the sound of their voice too much ought to die. 

Suddenly, Clove froze. 

With her heart in her throat, she stared at the sight of Cato’s fingers encircling the circumference of her ankles. She bit her lip and raised her eyes upward to look at him before flicking down to her feet in his hands. At those thick digits slowly moving up her calves.

Who knew that besides throwing punches, those rough calloused hands of his would feel so good on her skin?

Her mind began to shriek as her stomach swooped. What the fuck was he doing? She clutched at the hem of her blouse, wrinkling the fabric, her eyes boring a hole through the side of his face. However, rather than meeting her gaze, Cato’s attention was fixed on the screen. 

Was Cladius Templesmith really that captivating? 

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Clove forced herself not to react. But the stupid organ in her chest began pounding unsteadily and...was she actually short of breath? _ God _. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“They’re still on _ that? _” Enobaria’s sharp tone broke the odd tension rising in the room as she stepped down the stairs. “How have they not run out of things to ramble about?”

The both of them remained silent.

As Enobaria came into view, Clove debated on moving away but that was proven impossible when his hold on her tightened. She swallowed. Maybe that was for the best, doing anything else would make her seem like a guilty party, as if she’d done something wrong. Which, she hadn’t.

The words the older woman had spoken earlier on the train rang through her head once more. Which, were further emphasised by the narrowing of Enobaria’s dark eyes landing on her and Cato. More specifically, on his hands on her legs.

To the Victor’s credit, she kept her mouth shut and drifted to the adjoining chair that matched the stark red velvet couch. 

“Where’s Brutus?” 

Enobaria rolled her eyes. “Don’t know. Don’t take it personally. He just doesn’t care about the both of you and whether you succeed.”

“So that’s fucking great,” she hissed. “Cato and I are unfortunate to be granted a Mentor who doesn’t give a fuck and—”

“Shut the fuck up, Clovey!” The blond interrupted, throwing her a dark look. “They’re finally starting.” 

True enough, the telecast was finally moving past pointless chatter between the hosts and towards the first glimpses of the other tributes. Clove sat up. This was it. This was the time to scope out the competition, to see what and who they were up against. It was the moment that would slowly pave the way for future decisions. Do they form an alliance with the other Careers? Or should they strike out on their own?

_ “And now to the moment we’ve all been waiting for—maybe with too much excitement!” _ Flickerman chuckled into the microphone at the table as Templesmith tittered into his. “ _ Let’s introduce the Tributes, starting from those representing District One! The male tribute representing District One for the 74th Hunger Games, Marvel—” _

Beside her, Cato shifted and leaned towards the screen.

Clove grimaced. What the fuck kind of a name was _ Marvel? _

A video clip of a tall lean boy appeared on the screen. He was smirking, brown eyes shifting around as he stepped onto the podium where he volunteered—that was to be expected. He was a Career. 

“Not too bad,” Enobaria commented, squinting. “Not too muscular but he has that look in his eyes that shows he killed before. That’s good.” 

Clove didn’t comment. Not when she was pretty sure she had that look in her eyes too. Unlike the other districts, District Two allowed the execution of criminals to be carried out by potential trainees approaching the age of fifteen. Its main goal was to test for the ability for trainees to kill without hesitation. In short, to be eligible for volunteering in the Games and representing their district, passing this test was mandatory.

It may be barbaric and a tad insane, but Clove figured the practice helped to sift out those with a weak stomach.

_ “Ahh, as you can see! District One is serving up the looks this year!” _ Templesmith cheered, waving his stubby fists in the air. _ “My, he does look confident, doesn’t he, Caesar?” _

“Fuck, I can’t imagine what they might say about us,” Cato groaned, mouth curling in distaste as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like we’re animals on display!” 

Clove ignored him in favour of Flickerman’s stupid pointless prattle. Maybe she would go after the hosts. Only after her Escort, of course. Those would be kills she won’t regret. 

_“And District One’s female tribute_—_Oh!_ _Another volunteer!” _

If she thought Marvel’s name was stupid, the girl from District One took the cake. _ Glimmer? _ Bloody hell. Clove curled her lip, tongue running over her teeth as the screen presented a video of said blonde volunteering. 

Glimmer was everything that Clove was not. Tall, willowy, blonde and blue eyed, the District One tribute clearly had the ease of being the center of attention with the way she posed and smiled beatifically. Clove instantly hated her. 

“She’s pretty,” Enobaria snorted, shaking her head. “Too pretty.” 

“Yeah…”

At that, Clove snapped her head towards Cato. Her best friend was staring at the telecast with wide eyes, not even bothering to hide all the gawking he was doing over the female tribute.

Something bitter crawled up in her heart and Clove curled her hands into fists. Forget the Escort and the two hosts, she would go after Glimmer first. And fuck the idea of an alliance with the Careers. She didn’t need them to ensure Cato’s victory. She could do that on her own. 

But was she really willing to risk her best friend’s life because of one stupid girl? She paused, pressing her mouth into a grim line. No, she wouldn’t. She can’t. She had to be smart about this. Because no matter how gifted she or Cato was, the odds were stacked too high. 

“What do you think about an alliance?” 

It was only when Cato pinched her thigh that she realised he’d been addressing her. She blinked, catching the ever-perceptive eyes of Enobaria and turned to him, swallowing the stirrings of discomfort and another emotion she will not name.

“With One?” she tilted her chin, derision dripping from her tone as she took in the two tributes who were beaming and smiling and waving like they were entering a beauty pageant. “Seriously?”

“Clove, come on,” Cato coaxed, gesturing to the screen. “They’re _ Careers _,” he said, using a matter-of-fact tone that grated on her nerves. She wasn’t a fucking child. 

“So? We can take them easily,” she snapped, ripping her legs off his thighs to shoot him a glower. “Don’t you dare think with your fucking dick, asshole!” 

Cato gaped at her for a minute before his face darkened. “What the f—What’s your fucking problem, Princess Bitchface? We need allies to survive! ”

She was about to retort when Enobaria hushed them, gesturing to the telecast where Flickerman and Templesmith were shown once more. This time, they were giving an introduction to the next district—theirs. 

_“Moving on, District Two!”_ Templesmith announced and leaned closer to the camera, eyes flicking between the lens and his counterpart. _“Now, Caesar, am I_ _correct to say that this district—among the rest—has produced the highest number of Victors these past Games?”_

Enobaria grunted, muttering something too soft for her to catch, but Clove highly suspected it was something derogatory. 

_ “Definitely, Claudius! District Two is the Capitol’s pride and joy and they’ve hardly let us down, although there have been some incidences where the underdog won!” _ Flickerman grinned, shooting a wink to the cameras. _ “Now, I can’t wait to see whom we’re getting this year! Without further ado _ , _ the male tribute from District Two—” _

Did she really want to see this? To see the start of where everything had gone wrong? 

The sound of both commentators letting out equal squeals of disbelief and awe broke her out of her thoughts. She flicked her eyes back to the screen and rolled her eyes. Of course, they would show that particular bit, she scorned, stealing a glance at Cato who was surprisingly silent and somber looking.

Right. She deflated, shoulders slumping. Whatever was plaguing her would affect him too. This bit of the Reaping would show her what he’d seen and experienced just this morning. At that, Clove paused, stiffening. Was the Reaping really just this morning? It felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

Regardless, she just hoped that Cato had a better poker face than she remembered.

_ “Now, that,” _ Flickerman began lowly, _ “is a prime example of a District Two tribute. Am I right?” _

Despite the beginnings of a solemn atmosphere, Clove can’t help but snort under her breath at the clip shown. Typically of her district partner, Cato couldn’t resist showing off as he volunteered. With a smug smirk that dripped superiority and arrogance, he stepped onto the podium, angling his head languorously towards the cameras, grin widening as he did so.

“You’re such a peacock,” she mocked, shaking her head. “Fuck knows why they’re going crazy about you.”

Cato responded by smacking her in the arm and with a _ pang _, Clove observed it as a half-hearted attempt at best.

_ “Goodness, Caesar, look at that height! With that build and stature, I do believe he is a tribute to watch out for this coming Games!” _ Templesmith crowed excitedly. _ “And he is certainly very pretty.” _

Clove choked, bursting into laughter as Cato hurled a cushion at the screen. Not that it mattered when the projectile flew through the hologram and landed with a soft thud against the wall. 

“Pretty,” she gasped, hand clutching at her chest. “He called you pretty. _ You!” _

“Shut it, Clovey,” the blond groaned, glaring mutinously at her before shifting his eyes to Enobaria. “You too!” 

The older woman arched a brow, merely turning back to the programme and Clove had to admit being a tad surprised at the lack of bite or response from the Victor at being given an order by her own tribute.

_ “Being a Career, it isn’t a surprise he volunteered,” _ Flickerman said, raising his dyed eyebrows in a matter Clove found loathsome. _ “And I am glad he did, but his counterpart, on the other hand…” _

Immediately, she tensed, all trace of laughter leaving her throat. 

_"She was picked! The female tribute from District Two hadn’t volunteered! That is to say, no one had done so when she was picked. Isn’t that a quandary, Claudius?” _ Flickerman continued with exaggerated actions that toed the line of entertaining and bothersome. _ “Here she is! The female tribute representing District Two—” _

Fuck. Had she really gone up looking like _ that? _ Clove shuddered, scowling at the impassiveness on her face as she appeared on the podium. Standing beside the Escort, she looked pathetically young. That being said, she was relieved to see some form of confidence and fearlessness in her posture as she faced down the cameras. 

Bolstered by the image she managed to present, she aimed her focus towards Cato on the screen.

Thankfully, at that point of time, he hadn’t quite lost the arrogance or self-assured facade, but knowing him for as long as she did. She could tell he was freaking out. The way his fingers twitched at his sides and the throbbing tendon at his neck were blatant clues that he was close to lashing out. Looking back, it really had been a miracle he’d managed to restrain himself.

_ “—Isn’t she a fierce-looking thing? Exceptionally small, too!” _

Yeah, yeah, tell her something she didn’t know. 

Clove furrowed her brows, studying her appearance. For fuck’s sake. She looked fourteen or at most fifteen, not her actual age of sixteen. How could Sponsors and the other tributes—especially the other Careers—take her seriously when she looked like an inexperienced child? 

“Fuck,” she muttered, slouching further into her seat. Beside her, Cato grasped her hand with his larger one and squeezed. 

_ “But let’s not underestimate her just yet, Caesar,” _ Templesmith warned. _ “There’s always a reason why tributes from District Two are my favourites!” _

_ “Oh? Do tell, Claudius! I’m sure that I can speak on behalf of the audience that we are most intrigued!” _

_ “That is because they are never what we expect!” _ Templesmith declared with much aplomb, his stocky form practically vibrating with anticipation and excitement. _ “There must be a reason why nobody volunteered when she was picked. And from that look in her eyes, yes! This little lady certainly knows what she’s doing! I say,” _ the man paused for effect, _ “she could even be deadlier than her male counterpart. Just think about that!” _

Whistles and cheers could be heard and the hosts laughed uproariously as the programme paused for a commercial break. 

With the segment ending abruptly, it brought all the earlier tension back into the room and Clove fidgeted, hand still holding onto Cato’s. It was safe to say she was absolutely loathed to let go. And as his fingers tightened around hers, she could confidently claim that he too, felt the same.

Enobaria was the first to break the silence. “Well,” she began coyly, sharpened teeth glinting. “That was rather informative.” 

“Informative?” Clove repeated, voice flat. “That was a fucking joke—”

“How is it that they called her deadly while I’m pretty?” Cato interjected, brows pulled into a harsh glare. “No one is going to take us seriously—”

“Stuff it!” Enobaria growled, dark eyes flitting between them. “That introduction was more than good. You owe Claudius Templesmith your very lives for painting the two of you in a positive light. Calling you ‘pretty’,” she directed to the blond, “was a good thing. That would ensure countless support as Capitol citizens like pretty faces because brute strength and size don’t always win the Games.” She turned to Clove, “It doesn’t matter why no one volunteered when you got picked. Highlighting that fact _ hints _ you’re not a pushover, that you’re someone worthy to watch, to root for.” 

The both of them quieten and exchange glances. As of now, Clove had to admit a growing and grudging sense of respect for her Mentor. What she’d said did make sense as neither her or Cato understood the Capitol citizens and how they worked. 

“Now, the two of you will sit there and hold your damn hands and watch the other tributes without a single complain, am I clear?” 

Were they actually still holding hands? They were! Flushing, Clove tore her hand from his grip but the damage was already done. Enobaria smirked, dark eyes gleaming before she turned back to the screen. 

They didn’t speak and simply did as they were told, watching the rest of the introductions with their mouths clamped shut. 

As the minutes ticked by, presenting tribute after tribute, Clove found herself relaxing. Personally, she felt the remaining competitors were sorely underwhelming and clearly under prepared just from the meagre introductions. Even the last two Career tributes from District Four could never be a match against her. This was good—_ easy _. A cinch. It was definitely a sure win for Cato. It had to be.

Everything had been going fine until the tributes from District Twelve made their debut. 

Beside her, Cato was dozing off, head lolling back against the couch before he dropped against her shoulder. Any other time (like the ones in the past), she would have elbowed him off because his fat blond head was fucking heavy and probably weighed a tonne. But with her melancholic mood, she didn’t.

_ “A volunteer! Absolutely amazing! Can you believe it—” _

Truthfully, Clove hadn’t been listening until the word _ ‘volunteer’ _ captured her attention. Head snapping up, she gaped at the clip playing. She had to have heard wrong. There was no way someone from the lesser districts volunteered. 

_ “I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” _

She furrowed her brows, meeting Enobaria’s pinched expression. Quickly, she poked her fingers at Cato’s neck, causing him to jerk upright and glare blearily at her.

“Don’t,” she started, cutting off any potential grumbling. “There’s a volunteer from Twelve.” 

Cato blinked. “Huh?” Squinting, he focused on the screen and at the repeated clip of the brunette screaming at the Peacekeepers who hauled her away from the stage. “What the fuck? Why?”

“Hush!” Their Mentor barked. 

_ “Ladies and gentleman! A very interesting turn of events, indeed!” _ Flickerman announced, eyebrows raised comically. _ “I kid you not! The female tribute from District Twelve has volunteered! Remarkable, isn’t it, Claudius? The first volunteer from Twelve!” _

A sense of foreboding crept up her spine and Clove straightened, green eyes levelled to the shell-shocked girl on the screen. Said girl couldn’t be older than her by a year or two. With the way she stumbled onto the stage, looking like a wounded deer, it was clear the tribute lacked the grace and stealth of someone who trained for the Games.

Nevertheless, a non-Career volunteering was someone to watch, someone to be wary of.

“That one may be trouble,” Enobaria spoke in a hard tone, breaking the lull in the room as she scowled at the female volunteer.

Katniss Everdeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always much appreciated!


	4. flash

The gold satin itched. 

The fabric was deceptive; smooth and silky on the surface with its underside coarse and rough. Clove’s fingers longed to dig into her skin, to relieve the irritation the material left. Fuck, at this point, she’d practically do  _ anything _ to peel the offending garment off. 

If she thought her outfit was bad, the helmet her stylist presented was infinitely worse. 

“You’re fucking with me,” she deadpanned, green eyes flaring with derision.

“Absolutely not!” The stylist, whose name she didn’t bother learning, gasped, a hand clutching his chest in a dramatic fashion. “This is in honour of the Games your District won last year! Victors, that’s what you and your partner are to look like!”

Fine. She could accept that. At least she and Cato weren’t being coated in grey paint to resemble marble statues to highlight their district’s industry: Masonry. Perhaps fate was looking out for her just this once.

“Now, be a good doll and put this on, darling—Ahhhh there! You look perfect!” Her stylist cheered and turned to his two assistants. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous? My vision has been executed flawlessly if I do say so myself, am I right?” 

All the tittering, gushing and cooing were getting on her nerves. Clove scowled, pressing her lips together. It was bad enough she was forced to be dressed like some tacky gladiator from eons past, but the layers of makeup and the ridiculous hairstyle was rubbing her nerves raw.  _ This _ wasn’t her. She’d never worn makeup all her life and she doubted she would ever do so again. Her hair, on the other hand, was pulled so tightly away from her face that it caused her scalp to hurt. 

Clove could bravely say she thought the Tribute Parade ridiculous and over the top. 

Didn’t the Capitol citizens know that in a matter of weeks, most of them would be dead? That despite being draped in luxury, it wasn’t going to hide the fact they were being sent to their deaths? That their bodies would be returned to their respective districts in wooden boxes to be buried and forgotten? 

It would be an understatement to say she couldn’t wait till the Parade was over. 

Be that as it may, she did understand the importance of it. The whole event was a proper introduction for the Capitol to get their first actual look at the tributes. And first impressions mattered. The Parade was one of the few events that allowed Capitol citizens decide if they were worth rooting for. 

For two whole hours, she’d been forced to remain still while her stylist and his dreaded assistants poked and prodded at her. In short, she just wanted to get this whole damned thing over and done with. 

That being said, where the hell was Cato, anyway? 

The blond couldn’t— _ shouldn’t _ —have taken longer than her. Clove fidgeted, crossing her arms as she waited at the stairs. Whoever said girls took longer than boys to get ready clearly hadn’t met her best friend. 

Knowing Cato, he was probably preening in the mirror, she thought snidely. 

As if on cue, heavy steps sounded as Cato descended the stairs. Like her, he was dressed similarly in the god-awful gold getup with makeup evening his skin tone and—Clove took a double take, mouth gaping. Was that actually glitter on his arms?

She crossed her arms, shooting a withering glare at the blond, which he returned with a smirk. 

Midstep, he stopped and blinked. “What happened to your face?”

“What?”

“As in…” Cato trailed off, motioning slightly to her nose and cheeks. “Your freckles. They’re gone.” 

She grimaced, baring her teeth. She didn’t need a reminder about the gunk painted over her face. “Shut up.”

He grinned, stepping in line with her as they were led to the holding bay where their chariots awaited. Being from District Two, it wasn’t hard to find theirs when it was second in line. Grimacing at the huge black beasts assigned to them, Clove turned away. She never liked animals. Instead, she turned on her heel, craning her neck to survey the rest of the tributes at their own stations. 

There were the Careers from One and Four and those from the outlying tributes like Six, Seven, Ten and Eleven. She narrowed her eyes at the hulking form of the boy from Eleven. While large in stature, she had complete faith that Cato could take him on. It would be at the very least, a close fight. But with her at his side, they would be unbeatable. However, the tributes she mainly wanted to see—the girl from Twelve—had yet to arrive. 

She sighed, eyes scanning the crowd as she set her mouth into a grim line. They were early by a good thirty minutes as this was an opportunity for the tributes to scout the competition. Of course, the lesser districts wouldn’t understand that. But what else could she expect from them?

The only positive thing about this whole affair were the wary gazes sent to her and Cato’s way. Perhaps Claudius Templesmith really had worked his magic from the telecast yesterday evening. 

“Studying the competition?” Cato asked lowly as he nudged her.

“Of course,” she sniffed, removing the golden-winged helmet and chucking it at the foot of their chariot. “You would too, if you were smart enough.” 

“You know,” Cato began, ignoring her jibe. “Even though I fell asleep during the introductions last night, I don’t actually believe we have much of a contest. Easy kills, all of them.”

Was he being stupidly obtuse? 

She snarled, whipping up her dagger she’d concealed in her costume and tipped the blade at his throat. “Don’t be a fucking idiot and underestimate your opponents. We still have the Careers and the boy from Eleven. We know nothing about any of them.” 

“No.” Cato was smirking, gunmetal blue eyes shifting around the crowd before meeting hers smugly. “But what you’re doing is certainly gaining points in our favour.”

Clove paused, eyes flicking around the room. 

Their mini dispute hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where they had gotten circumspect looks earlier, they were now replaced with outright fear and consternation. Even some of the stylists and Mentors were regarding them with caution. 

Huffing, she glowered at him, sheathing her knife back. “If you just wanted to play cat-and-mouse, you could’ve just told me.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” The blond wheedled, “You can’t deny you love the hunt as well.” 

“Fine. Let's go play, then.” She hopped down from the chariot and smoothed out the minute wrinkles on her top, adjusting the long billowing cape. “I’m bored and the Parade has yet to start. You choose.”

Cato scanned the room predatorily. “How about Seven? Johanna Mason is there as a Mentor. Don’t you want to say hi to one of your favourite Victors?” 

“ _ Absolutely not _ ,” Enobaria snapped, crossing her arms as she appeared at their side. “You’re here to intimidate and make an impression. Not to make friends.” Her glare deepened. “What happened to the rest of your costume?” 

Before Clove could reply, her stylist and his entourage appeared and began shrieking and fussing at the flyaway hairs and the absence of her helmet. Being prodded and poked about for the second time was definitely not part of her plans. 

Silently, she shot her blond counterpart an ominous scowl if he dared to say even a word. To his credit, Cato just grinned obnoxiously at her side, clearly enjoying her discomfort. 

“Now, look here. You two are from District Two and already have the advantage of being favourites due to our Victor from last year,” the older woman started, staring them down fiercely. “Do not, I repeat,  _ do not  _ be too friendly or approachable when you’re out there. You’re Careers from the district that has won most of the Games. You don’t need to curry favour. You just have to be confident and strong.” 

In spite of the...questionable actions from the train, Clove can’t help but feel a grudging glimmer of respect towards their Mentor. The woman may be a tad extreme but the aid and guidance given so far had been invaluable. 

“Right. Here we go.” Their Mentor gestured towards the distant sound of drums and took a step back. “Remember what I’ve said. Fierce. Confident. Strong.” 

Clove nodded and stumbled slightly when the chariot lurched. “Fucking beasts,” she swore, glaring mutinously at the pair of horses. God, she absolutely  _ hated _ animals. 

Beside her, Cato sniggered and she would’ve retaliated if they weren’t already out under the open sky. 

Deafening cheers and claps echoed as the tributes slowly made their appearance down the long aisle. Taking Enobaria’s advice to heart, she tilted her chin and only allowed the barest hint of a smirk on her face as she waved occasionally to the crowd like a benevolent ruler. Cato, ever being the attention-seeker took things further by granting full-fledged grins to random lucky citizens. 

With the cheers increasing in volume, she stole a quick glance at her district partner and Clove could feel the start of an actual smile forming on her mouth. She did have to give some credit to their stylists. The blond indeed looked like a Victor, all golden and triumphant. Despite the odds against them and her impending fate, Clove was simply glad he was at her side. Before anyone could notice the hole in her facade, she snapped her head to the front, bland insincere smile back on her face.

Mostly, the Tribute Parade had gone by without a hitch. She didn’t fall off her chariot and neither her nor Cato had a costume malfunction like their predecessors in the 65th Games. Everything had gone according to Enobaria’s plan. 

Until the flames of District Twelve appeared. 

That’s when everything started to go downhill. 

“Fucking flames,” Enobaria hissed when they met her back at the hall to dismount. 

Her face was twisted into a menacing scowl. Clove recognised it to one the Mentor had on before ripping a throat out in her year of being a tribute in the Games. 

Even now, Clove could still hear the chants of  _ District Twelve _ and  _ Katniss and Peeta _ or some variation of either. 

“I fucking knew they would be trouble!” Enobaria snarled, baring sharpened teeth that glinted in the light and shook her head, her dark groomed curls falling into perfect waves down her shoulders. “Forget it. The both of you were more than good. You were perfect and had the Capitol on your side—” 

“Until Twelve came,” Clove interjected coolly, ripping off the damn helmet and tossing it to the ground. 

“Yes,” Enobaria grimaced but conceded with a nod. “Until Twelve.”

Cato, who was slightly better in temperament, shrugged and ran his fingers through his stiffly-gelled hair. “It doesn’t matter. They’re gonna die eventually and I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.”

Albeit the casual nonchalant tone, Clove didn’t miss the menace of such a sentence as she jerked her head in agreement. But she was still furious, blood roaring in her ears. 

How could scum like  _ Twelve _ be better? They weren’t Careers. Them receiving more attention and favour from the Capitol because of better stylists and the joining of hands stung. How was any of that fair? Tributes from Two trained all their lives for the Games and to have that fact overlooked was quite literally a slap in the face. 

“You’re quite right,” Enobaria grinned amiably. “They wouldn’t have the proper training and with that old hopeless drunk as their Mentor,  _ well… _ ” 

“Him?” Cato arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware District Twelve even had victors.” 

“Oh, they do.” Their Mentor curled her lip in disdain, voice dripping poison. “He’s the only one as far as I can remember. In fact, he won by sheer luck in the Second Quarter Quell.”

Clove ignored the fussing and fluttering of their Escort and stared right ahead at the group from Twelve, green eyes narrowing. There was their Escort, a purple piece of fluff (what exactly was with Escorts and the colour purple?) who had more hair than a face, their drunk Mentor with greasy hair stringing into his face while droning on about something, perhaps at Twelve’s success in the Parade (fuck she wanted to scream at that). There was their male tribute who looked more lost and pathetic than Clove thought possible and finally,  _ her _ . 

The volunteer—Katniss Everdeen.

Decked in black and looking overwhelmed at the whole procedure, Clove wanted nothing more than to shove her knife into Twelve’s face. Carve lines into that porcelain face that was more gaunt than pretty. To leave her mark on that breathing canvas.

“Already employing intimidation tactics, huh?” 

Without looking away from the foursome, she smirked. “Of course. You know how much I like being feared.” 

By now, Twelve and their companions had no doubt noticed them. Or specifically, the anticipatory killer looks sent their way. 

Their fluttery Escort took a step back, lips forming an ‘O’ before she hastily averted her gaze. Haymitch Abernathy, their Mentor, froze, mouth movements coming to a halt as he returned their stares. The male tribute blinked owlishly, as though he was unsure if he was actually the recipient of their hostile looks, whereas the Girl on Fucking Fire simply gawked back at them. 

At her side, Cato arched a brow in challenge. Tilting his chin forward, he sneered and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth before settling into an arrogant smirk. Clove couldn’t help but snicker, as she too, flashed a smile that was more predatory than welcoming. 

Abernathy blanched and quickly ushered his tributes away like a shepherd doing his dismal best to herd his little lambs from being led to the sacrificial altar—which wasn't entirely a falsehood.

Good. 

They were meant to be  _ feared _ . 

While the Academy had all sorts of weapons to cater to different trainees’ skills and proficiency, it was simply nothing in comparison to the Training Centre in the Capitol.

From the moment they stepped into the training room, she didn’t miss the way Cato’s eyes darted from one station to the next, as though he couldn’t decide where to start. Whereas for her, today was all about gaining information and scoping out the competition. They did only have three days here before the private training sessions began. 

_ “Remember, your time in the training centre is not just for training, but to equip yourself with allies, gain information about the other tributes and to get the necessary survival skills. But most of all, as Careers, you’re meant to intimidate.” _

With the older woman’s voice ringing through her mind, Clove gripped his arm, giving him a pointed look. “Remember what Enobaria said.”

“ _ Clovey _ .” He shot her an amused, knowing look. “Is she now your favourite victor?”

“She’s our Mentor, dumbass. We are supposed to heed her advice. So far, she’s been making more sense than you ever did.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, come on,” he said, leading them to where the rest of the tributes were.

Once they were all gathered, the head trainer, Atala began explaining the rules and Clove took the chance to observe the other tributes. Without their glittering costumes from the Tribute Parade, they were even more pathetic than she thought. 

Keenly, she noticed Twelve eyeing them nervously, grey eyes darting warily from one face to the other and Clove smirked. Said intimidation tactics from the Parade was indeed working. 

His, head tilted, arms crossed over his chest and a sinister grin on his mouth, Clove knew that Cato had noticed Twelve’s fear too. He caught her glance, giving her a tiny smile that lasted the barest of seconds. 

Somehow, that little grin sent a depth of warm within her. Hastily, she turned back to the crowd, but not before returning a smile of her own.

While the younger tributes were deemed less of a threat, the shifty-eyed girl from Five was one that caught Clove’s attention. Making a mental note to keep track of the redhead, Clove finally shifted her attention to the Careers.

Unsurprisingly, the Careers from One, Marvel and Glimmer were studying her best friend with ardent interest, whispering to each other before narrowing in on her. Boldly, Clove arched her brows in challenge, giving them a quick once over before shifting her jaw. Yeah, she stood by her earlier statement. She could take them on her own if it came down to it. 

Typically of Cato, he started off swinging a sword with one of the trainers, garnering the attention of the majority of the tributes. Good. That way, she could prowl about observing the strengths and weaknesses of the competition without being deterred. 

The boys from Ten and Six weren’t much but with the way they jostled with their respective trainers, she surmised them being a decent threat if she ever lost her knives. Some of the younger ones have gravitated towards the survival stations, lighting fires and making traps. 

The Girl on Fire, she noticed, was doing her best to shrink away from attention, hiding in corners at the less-visited stations. As if keeping her head down would help, Clove inwardly snorted. She meant it. She would be the one to kill her in the Games.

She was observing the boy from Ten, taking in his combat skills when the commotion began. 

“Six, where’s my knife, huh? Where is it?! I put my knife there—”

Fuck it all if she doesn’t recognise that voice. 

“Don’t touch me!” Six yelled. “Didn’t take your knife! Back off!”

“I want my knife!” Cato bellowed, shoving the boy violently. “I know you took it! You fucking took my knife! Give it back!” 

Two Peacekeepers began to intervene, jerking him away from Six before dragging his resisting form off. That’s when he started to lose it by howling and thrashing about. 

Fucking Cato and his temper, always leaving her to clean up his messes.

Sidling past the gawking tributes, she ignored the Peacekeepers and dug her nails into his forearm. “Cato,” she hissed, yanking at his elbow harshly. “Stop it. It’s just a knife and you hate knives.” 

“He fucking stole it,” he raged, tearing his arm away. “He’s a fucking liar—”

“So what?” she interjected, glaring at him in warning. “Don’t you fucking overreact. The Gamemakers are watching! You can’t bear to be a twat now.”

The blond growled, ignoring her, huge form practically vibrating in anger that only bloodlust could satisfy. “Did you hear what he said? He thought he could challenge me!  _ That he could beat me!” _

When he made a brutal move to shove past her, she reacted. Jamming the edge of a knife at the jugular of his throat (they really were starting a habit of this), she applied pressure against the skin—enough to warn but not to injure. Nevertheless, the action does its job and Cato came to a halt. Seizing the chance, Clove snaked a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed hard, ensuring his attention.

_ “I said knock it off,” _ she snarled, eyes flashing. “If he did take the knife, so be it. You can just wreck him later in the Arena. But for now, focus! Picking fights wouldn’t help. It shows that you’re a liability because you can’t control your fucking temper! How are we going to get Sponsors, then?”

Cato swallowed, glare deepening. Eventually, he acquiesced, giving a firm nod.

Satisfied, she released her hold on him and took a step back, watching him warily for any remains of his temper. 

_ “All cool?” _

“Yeah.” He jerked his head, unable to miss the derision dripping from her tone. “I’m good. Let’s move on.”

She scowled, turning on her heel. Trust Cato to be this difficult when they had enough problems to fill their plates. While the concept of dying never truly left the forefront of her mind, it was the opposite for Cato. With how he was acting as though nothing was wrong, she knew he’d pushed the entire concept to the back of his mind, burying it deep.

Till now, she can’t decide if that was a positive thing. 

Drifting towards the row of gleaming polished steel, Clove eyed the blades that came in all shapes and sizes. Some were more serrated than the rest and truthfully, those were her favourites. The more jagged a blade, the harder it was for her victims to pry it out. Her fingers longed to touch the weapons, to glide across icy-cold metal that promised both precision and control.

“Clove, right?” 

Turning, she took stock of the boy from One—Marvel smiling down at her, a spear in hand. “Yes,” she said shortly.

A spear thrower, and a good one too, she mused calculatingly, eyeing the way the boy handled the weapon with ease and dexterity that spoke of years of experience.

“I saw that you didn’t volunteer during the Reaping.” 

“No.”

“Well, why not?” 

Was he serious? Clove narrowed her gaze. “I don’t believe it’s any of your business.” 

Marvel grinned and she did have to applaud him for being terribly charismatic and a tad likable because not once did she have the urge to carve a permanent smile on his face. 

“You can’t blame me for being curious, you look awfully young compared to your district partner,” he motioned to the opposite end of the room where her blond counterpart was. “Besides, an alliance isn’t too far out of the question, is it?”

“I’m  _ sixteen _ ,” she snapped. 

“Oh! So is Glimmer!” Marvel brightened. “And I’m eighteen in case you were wondering. Say what are your skills? Mine’s the spear and close combat.” He began swinging the long length of steel in the air with adept hypnotic motions. 

Fuck, she took her earlier statement back. She did not have the energy or patience to deal with someone like Marvel. In addition, she wasn’t stupid. Him being all friendly was an appallingly weak attempt for her to let her guard down.

If the brown-haired boy was disappointed from the lack of simpering or any other ridiculous reaction from her at his peacocking, he hid it well. 

“Well, you could talk to Glimmer if you want,” he scratched his head, “She seems to be making more headway with your partner than I am with you.”

Clove spun, catching sight of Cato and Glimmer talking and—was that a smile on his face? Suddenly, the bubble-headed tribute from One giggled and inched closer towards her best friend, resting a hand on his arm. 

Forget a swift cut across her throat, Clove was going to skin her alive.

“So about the alliance...we  _ are _ Careers, so maybe…think about it?” he grinned, winking. “I’m sure your partner doesn’t mind.” 

Although she stared flatly at him, she was positively  _ seething _ inside.

“So, thoughts about a Career Alliance? Gloss was asking earlier today.”

The hand holding her dinner knife paused and Clove raised her eyes towards Cato. Considering he’d been the one pushing for it since the introductory tapes, she waited for his response. Surely after meeting them today, he would change his mind.

Clove didn’t think she could bear Glimmer prancing about, cozying with Cato without giving into the temptation of stabbing her. Nor could she stand Marvel and his endless verbal vomit. She just might end up killing herself to escape them. 

“Glimmer wasn’t too bad,” he started, setting his utensils down. “She was promised Sponsors and she claimed that archery was one of her skills.”

Enobaria looked terribly unimpressed. “And?”

“Well...that’s all I know about her so far.”

“What about the boy from One? Or Four?” 

“Uh...” he trailed off, turning to Clove. 

“Marvel is more than adept with a spear,” Clove said. “He was also demonstrating his skills with hand to hand combat.” Enobaria arched a brow and she took it as encouragement to continue, “He’s trained well, dreadfully talkative but he’s charismatic, which could work well in our favour—”

“Charismatic?” Cato scowled. “You’re supposed to be taking notes, not chatting them up.”

She slammed her fist, sending her dinner knife across the table in his direction and the way Cato simply dodged it made her anger rise exponentially. “Fuck you, asshole!” she hissed. “At least I didn’t let my fucking temper get the best of me while—”

“What about Four?” Their Mentor interrupted, leaning back in her chair, looking bored and entirely unaffected. “Odair liked the looks of the both of you.”

“They’re okay,” she muttered, glaring furiously at her plate. “Not much of a threat, but it’s still too early to tell.”

“You would know, wouldn’t  _ you?” _ Cato sneered. 

Without a word, Clove got to her feet and went to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

_ Fucking Cato and _ — _ just fucking boys! _

“Clovey, come on.”

She stared right ahead, refusing to even give any sign she could hear him. 

“Clove.”

_ “Clove.” _

Nope, she was as good as deaf when it came to her tribute partner. 

“Clove, Clove, Clove, Clove, Clove, Clove—”

_ “What?”  _

“I knew that would get you,” Cato smirked, looking all too pleased and satisfied with himself. 

Just to be contrary, she paused midwalk and when he turned to face her, she planted a big fat one in his face. Really, it shouldn’t feel this good to enjoy the sight of his head snapping to the side or him staggering back from the impact of the blow. But it did.

He winced as he shifted his jaw, a hand reaching up to massage the sore spot. “Alright, are we good now?” 

She snorted, glowering up at him. “Not even close.”

Cato laughed, swinging an arm around her shoulders before tugging playfully at her ponytail. “Yeah right. You’re not actually pissed anymore.”

Halfheartedly, she pinched his arm and swatted his hand from her hair. Unfortunately for her, he was right, she could never stay mad at him for too long. 

“Person who scares the least number of tributes becomes a slave for the day?” Blue eyes glittered with mischief as they stepped into the training room.

“Doesn’t count if you did the majority of the scaring yesterday,” she pointed out. “If I recall correctly, it was your lack of control over your anger that did most of the job.”

“So you think I can’t be any more intimidating than I was yesterday?”

_ “Yes.” _

Cato smirked, jutting his chin out. “Challenge accepted. Prepare to be ordered about,  _ Clovey. _ ”

Amused and a tad entertained, she watched as he began cutting down dummies, sword in hand as plastic limbs—and even a head—dropped to the ground with deadly ferocity and speed. Just from this display, she noted that he’d drawn the attention of almost everyone present, be it tributes, the trainers and the Gamemakers. 

With a grunt, he impaled the tip of his sword into the last dummy with an alarming amount of force, causing the plastic form to shudder and crack despite being nailed to the ground.

“How’s that for intimidating?” he jeered, making his way back to her side.

Gesturing to the array of artificial appendages littered all over the ground, Clove rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to make such a mess.” 

“But I do; we have an audience.”

Following his gaze to the right, the Careers were standing in a corner, observing. Clearly, an alliance had been formed overnight. Due to the unfinished discussion from last evening, a decision on joining it was still to be made.

In Clove’s opinion, she would rather not. The pair from Four were dead weight and only Marvel seemed skilled enough, and no, she wasn’t just saying that because of her biases against Glimmer. Though they were well founded. So far, the blonde had done nothing but partake in the mandatory exercises, showing no other remarkable abilities that could be beneficial for them. 

“Clove! Hey!” Marvel called, sauntering towards her, the three Careers trailing after him. “Cato, right?” he directed to the blond and turned his attention back to her. “So? Have you thought about it?”

She ignored Cato’s darkening expression, cocking her head. “Cato and I talked about it, but we don’t really know. You have a spear,” she shifted her eyes towards Glimmer and the tributes from Four. “What do the rest of you do?” 

“Does it matter?” Glimmer demanded, brushing past her partner to sneer. “We’re  _ Careers _ .”

“So?” 

“Careers stick together!” The blonde huffed indignantly, crossing her arms. “ And what’s so special about  _ you _ , anyway? You didn’t even volunteer!” 

Oh yes. Clove smirked wickedly. If there was anything she liked more than her daggers, it was proving people wrong.

Without a word, she stalked towards the knife-throwing station and within seconds, she was armed. As a trainer initiated the programme, she straightened into proper stance before pitching a dagger at the first lighted target and smiling satisfactorily when it hit the painted centre with a low  _ thud _ . Throwing two more daggers in quick succession, she didn’t wait to see if they hit their marks—which they do—before hurling the last one from a different angle.

_ Thud. _

_ Bullseye _ .

Smugly, she turned, arching a brow at the crowd amassed to watch her. She tilted her head and smiled, aiming it to the blonde from One. Their eyes met and Clove allowed her grin to stretch across her face slowly— _ predatorily _ .

To her credit, Glimmer stayed silent. 

Hopping off the raised platform, Clove barged past her, shoulder banging into Glimmer’s side before slinking off, enjoying the way the other tributes parted, creating a wide berth from her. Where there were frightened looks from before, they had been replaced by outright fear. Even now, some of the tributes didn’t even dare to meet her gaze.

“I think I won,” she murmured, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder as Cato came to her side. “So,  _ slave _ , what should your first task be?”

Cato scoffed but Clove didn’t miss that incomprehensible look in his eyes as he grinned down at her.

“One does want you both in the alliance,” Enobaria declared, coming round to sit on the couch facing the screen. “I’ve told Gloss and Cashmere that you’re both in.”

Clove grimaced, slouching back. She’d been strongarmed into agreeing and nothing she said or did would get her out of it. The only positive outcome of having Glimmer nearby the whole time was being able to remove her from the picture anytime she liked. Maybe, she could even use the blonde as bait to lure the boy from Eleven out. 

The possibilities were quite endless.

“I trust that the both of you have outperformed yourselves,” Enobaria said as Flickerman began the mandatory introduction and explanations of how the training scores worked. 

“Of course,” Cato shrugged, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “We’re District Two.”

The older woman snorted. 

_ “From District One, Marvel, with a score of...Nine.” _

Clove shifted while Cato’s face twisted into a dark glower. Till now, she can’t decide or figure out where his animosity towards the boy from One had stemmed from. Also, getting a Nine was a good thing, was it not? Fucking Cato. 

_ “...Glimmer, with a score of...Eight!”  _

She scowled, slumping further into her seat, fingers toying with her knife in her hands. 

“How did she get an Eight?” Enobaria swivelled around, raising expectant brows. 

Neither of them gave an answer. They didn’t know. 

“She probably did a lot of sucking and swallowing,” she muttered under her breath. 

Cato, who heard her clearly began to choke, face turning bright red as he beat at his chest. Enobaria simply rolled her eyes, but there was no denying the barest hint of a smirk on her lips. 

_ “From District Two, Cato, with a score of...Ten!”  _

Around them, their Escort and stylists cheered, getting to their feet and began raining praises and congratulations. The former Victor nodded approvingly, looking proud for the most part and Cato looked over the moon, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he accepted the compliments with surprising grace and modesty Clove wasn’t aware he possessed.

“Aren’t you happy for me,  _ Clovey _ ?” The pair of blue eyes directed her way glittered with triumph and exuberance.

She made a face in return. As if he needed her to feed his ego. Anymore and it would be an utter miracle if his fat blond head could fit through the doorway.

“Of course, you know I am,” she sniffed dismissively and nudged him with her elbow. “But just so you know, if you didn’t even score at least a Ten, I would have been sorely crossed with you.”

He laughed and then flashed her a quick grin that made her chest tighten, stomach quiver and her heart to pound. 

_ “Clove, from District Two, with a score of...Ten!” _

She blinked once, and then twice more at the telecast. 

“Matching scores of Ten! Oh, darlings, this is wonderful! Brilliant! Just brilliant!” Their Escort gushed, clapping eagerly as she fluttered around them. “Just think about the amount of Sponsors the both of you will have!” 

Enobaria smiled and no matter how tiny it was, Clove flushed with pleasure as warmth filled her gut. Somehow, having the older woman’s approval meant more than she thought possible. 

A hand squeezed her shoulder and she doesn’t have to look to know that it was Cato. She smirked. They didn’t have to say anything, the gesture meaning infinitely more than words can say. 

As their stylists and Escort began a fervent discussion of their chances of survival, reality began to set in with its oppressive presence—both of them simultaneously being in the Games was hitting too close to home.

Right there and there, she wanted nothing more than to curl up against him, to spend every last minute she had with the one person who meant the most in the entirety of her short miserable life. But with their whole team present, she might as well jump out of the building window. 

“...Surely, the Sponsors wouldn’t go to One, a Nine and Eight in scores isn’t much compared to double Tens from Two!” 

“That may be so, but tributes from One are never lacking. Have you seen the girl? Gorgeous bone structure!”

Fuck it. Who cared?

In less than forty-eight hours, they would be in the Arena, facing down twenty-two tributes who all wanted to survive. And Clove knew the survival instinct ingrained in humans was never one to be overlooked. With her rotten luck, she could even be the first unlucky few to die in the Bloodbath. Who really knew? 

Without any further hesitation, she slumped down to her right, cheek pressing against the edge of his shoulder as she inched closer. If Cato was surprised at her blatant display of ease in manner towards him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he dropped his arm over her, pulling her flush against him. 

Flickerman continued announcing the scores and truthfully, no one else sparked much interest. The other tributes’ scores didn’t even come close to hers and Cato’s. Even the Careers from Four barely pulled an Eight between them. However, the boy from Eleven earned a Nine and she wasn’t too surprised by that—he was pretty huge. 

When the male tribute from Twelve is awarded an Eight, Clove furrowed her brows. 

Sure the boy was a little heftier than the past tributes from their district, but she can’t recall him displaying any noticeable skills or abilities. Or was it his strength? A hundred pound weight was not too small a deal, but in her opinion, it wasn’t worth an Eight. 

_ “And finally, from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen, with a score of…”  _

She wouldn’t have taken note but with the way Flickerman had paused, hesitating...Well. That had gotten her attention. 

_ “Eleven.”  _

Abruptly, she sat up, head snapping towards the screen, eyes narrowing at the pale face of Twelve. Flickerman, himself seemed stunned as he faced the camera, dyed brows raised high on his forehead as he spoke.

A fucking  _ Eleven? _

Beside her, Cato was bellowing, throwing a huge fit as he flung glassware and furniture about. And just this once, Clove wasn’t the least bit concerned of the damage he would cause. Instead, she was sorely tempted to join him in his quest for destruction. 

She fumed, clenching her fingers around the handle of her dagger. 

Basically, Twelve was no longer a threat, but an enemy and well...Clove was nothing but pretty fucking good at removing them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated :) also, I've decided to update this every Monday so it's easier for everyone!


	5. aglow

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought watching Enobaria coach Cato to be the perfect Capitol favourite be this entertaining. Two hours had come and gone and still, her district partner slouched, spreading his legs as he sat, looking every inch a degenerate instead of a star-studded tribute.

Their stylist and Escort had long given up, retiring to the dining room. The last Clove had seen of them, they were drinking copious amounts of some neon green beverage she highly suspected was alcohol.

“Legs together!” Their Mentor barked.

“Look, I don’t fucking get why that matters at all—”

“You _ have _to win the Capitol over,” the older woman interrupted. “Now, I’ve told you that your persona is to be the golden boy that everyone likes—that everybody wants to be, to present yourself as the most likely Victor.”

“Yeah—”

“So _ yeah _,” Enobaria snapped huffily. “To come off as that, you have to be confident—arrogantly so and behaviour plays a huge part in that! No one from the Capitol is going to cheer for someone who acts and sits like he’s been living in the woods his whole life!” 

Clove sniggered. Cato, for his part, rolled his eyes, looking anything but pleased.

“However, being self-assured isn’t enough. You have to give off some sex appeal to draw the Capitol in with your pretty face. Luckily, most of them already think you’re very attractive.”

Grimacing, Clove shifted her gaze. “But he’s seventeen.”

A strange expression flittered onto their Mentor’s face. “Believe me, the Capitol doesn’t care.”

Leaving her to deduce what she could possibly mean, Enobaria went on. “Now, once again, tell me, how are you supposed to sit and react once you’re on that stage? Because from what I’ve seen, the boy from One can certainly work a crowd. And it’s just your rotten luck you’re after him. Outshining him is a _ must _.”

Instantly, a dark glower adorned Cato’s face. “I’ll be cocky, charming, polite—_ a total gentleman _,” the last bit was said with ill-concealed disgust. “But I will also assure the crowd of my skills and that tributes from District Two had never failed to impress in the Arena.”

Resigned, Enobaria turned her eyes heavenwards before sighing. “That’ll have to do. What about you, girl?” 

“Sweet and sarcastic,” Clove said flatly. 

“And?” the older woman pressed. 

“I have to be confident, direct and yet, likeable—”

Cato snickered. “If only they really knew how _ likeable _ you actually are.”

She glared frostily at him before continuing, “—and I’ll talk about the Ten from the rankings and how I earned it and despite being short and small, I won’t ever hesitate to go for the kill and it’s all on a list—”

“What the fuck?” Cato interrupted, sitting up. “Why does Clove get to be her normal bitchy murderous self while I have to play nice like some fucking dog?”

Enobaria looked close to exploding. In fact, Clove wouldn’t be surprised if the Victor up and left them to join their Escort and stylists in the other room. 

“Because _ I _ say so,” she growled. “I am your Mentor and I know what the Capitol expects from the two of you. Unless,” she shrugged, head cocked to the side, “the two of you have somehow managed to glean more information about that than I?”

The both of them exchanged glances and remained silent. Neither of them were particularly interested in being the one to light the anger that boiled so perilously close under their Mentor’s skin.

“That’s what I thought.” Enobaria bared her teeth satisfactorily. “Now, let’s go through this _ again _.”

Cato slouched back into his chair and groaned.

She glared at her reflection, eyes trailing from the ridiculous style her hair was teased in—all braids and fluffed up hair—the shimmery orange-tinted glitter painted onto her eyes and cheeks and lastly, to her dress.

The fucking dress.

Saying the dress was over the top would be too kind. The coral-coloured garment had ruffles, ribbons, gathers and too many damned layers of tulle. Strapless and cinched tight at her waist before flaring out slightly, the dress was something she would never wear if she had a choice. Hell, she’d rather burn it, or use it as target practice. Furthermore, despite the hem reaching all the way to the ground, she felt too bare, _ exposed _. 

She was going to fucking murder her stylists. 

How exactly was this sweet and sarcastic? She looked like an orange pastry she’d eaten once at dinner two nights ago. 

Clove might actually scream. 

“Oh, you’re done. I thought you'd take longer…” Cato began but his voice trailed off, mouth dropping once he caught sight of her at the door. 

“Not a single word from your big fat mouth,” she warned, clenching her fingers into the first layer of her dress. “I’ll put my fist through if you even think about opening it.”

To his credit, Cato kept his mouth shut, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his navy slacks. Although he stayed silent, those blue eyes of his were filled with mirth and nothing he did could hide the tug at the corner of his lips.

She narrowed her eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line as she took him in. Or more specifically, at the lack of embellishments on his attire.

“Why the hell do you look so normal?” she demanded, resisting the childish urge to stamp her feet. 

Instead of something tacky and hideous that was expected of Capitol fashion, Cato was dressed in navy from head to toe. The only remarkable aspect of his attire was the satiny sheen on his jacket and slacks. Unlike the Tribute Parade, his hair was free from any gel and only the barest hint of makeup was used. At least this time, the absence of body glitter was a fucking blessing.

How was any of this fair? She scowled, crossing her arms to prevent herself from tugging at her dress.

Cato grinned, running his tongue over his teeth as he leaned against the wall, eyes dragging over her orange-coloured form with a certain heat that made her feel strangely flustered.

“Do you know what you look like?"

“Cato, I’m warning you…”

“Like that orange thing we ate the other day for dessert.”

Although she did just threaten bodily harm should he make a comment about her appearance, Clove burst into laughter. The fact that both of them had likened her dress to that dreaded fucking pastry— 

“I know,” she snorted. “I did think that too. It’s awful and unfair, isn’t it? Here you are looking all dashing and smart and here I am resembling an over-puffed orange tart.” 

“You think I look dashing?” he smirked.

She gave him a withering stare, which only served to make his cocky grin deepen. 

“Truthfully,” he started abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck, pushing himself away from the wall. “The dress isn’t too bad. It does...highlight your nicer features.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“But your hair on the other hand…”

“I’m warning you,” she began, staring him down in challenge.

“I can’t. Not when it looks like a bird made a nest in it and raised a whole fucking flock in there.”

“Shut up, you piece of shit!”

The bastard laughed and Clove huffed, turning away in derision. She could hit him, but that would make him retaliate, leading to a scuffle with the end result getting her all untidy. Risking the ire of her Stylists wasn’t worth that one smack.

She could get back at him later. 

A hand snaking around her waist startled her and Clove stumbled in her heels as Cato pulled her flush against him. Forehead banging straight into his torso, she blinked hastily, raising her lashes to gawk stupidly at him. 

“What the hell—Get off!” she ordered, shoving her fists at his chest. “Let go of me now, Cato! I’m warning you,” she added imperiously when the blond showed no signs of listening. 

His arms tightened their hold on her, fingers curling around her waist and from how she was literally pressed against him, Clove swore she could feel the heat of him searing through their layers of clothes. Warmth started to creep up her cheeks and her gut started to clench with something she can’t quite put a name to. Whatever it was, she was lost. Lost in his arms, in his blue eyes, and the unfamiliarity of their embrace that was anything but unwelcomed. 

“Come on, Clovey, lighten up,” he murmured, gaze teasing with just a hint of softness in those cerulean depths.

Staring up at him, her mouth worked uselessly, her brain unable to process the position they’re in—Cato with his arms slung low but tightly around her waist, and she, all snuggled close to him. She lowered her eyes, only realising there and then that her fingers were buckled into the lapels of his jacket, as though she was trying to pull him closer. 

A restless stirring in her heart grew, making her yearn for _ more _ and _ closer _ and—

Clove would bet every single dollar she possessed that her face was now beet red. 

But what the fuck was she thinking? She bit her bottom lip, no doubt ruining the perfectly applied layer of pink lipstick. This was Cato! Cato, the boy who lived to torment her while growing up. Cato, who had her back all these years. Cato, her best and only friend! She couldn’t and _ shouldn’t _ be feeling anything like this for him!

“What’s on your mind?”

Eyes wide, she looked up, meeting his half-lidded gaze. “I—”

“Are we finally ready to go?”

Fucking _ yes! _

Abruptly and with strength she didn’t know she possessed, Clove pushed herself from her district partner, tearing her away from Cato’s grasp, feet stumbling back from the sudden force just as Enobaria came into view.

“What the fuck were you two doing?” The former Victor asked waspishly. “We’ve been waiting downstairs for ages!” 

Clove swallowed, playing with a tail of a ribbon hanging from her waist as she avoided Cato’s burning stare. “We just—”

“Never mind! Let’s just go. Now!” Enobaria commanded forcefully, piercing dark eyes glinting with something Clove can only describe as..._ knowing _.

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

With slightly wobbly steps, she brushed past the both of them. She can’t look at the older woman. Clove was wary of the unasked questions that were sure to line their Mentor’s face. How could she attempt to respond to them when she didn’t even have the answers? 

If that was her reaction to Enobaria, facing Cato was worse. 

As they head to the studio, Clove did not talk to him. Nor did she look at him. She can’t. Not when her mind and heart were a complete mess. Although nothing actually happened, everything between them felt…different.

However, the same can’t be said for the blond. Throughout the journey, she can feel the heavy weight of his eyes boring through the side of her head. If that wasn’t enough, the sheer magnitude of his presence was drowning her, suffocating her, making her mind go blank. The air was charged. Where their arms brushed, static zipped through her nerves, rushing down her spine and all the way to her toes.

In short, Clove was aware of him in a way she never was before. 

As they line up according to their districts in ascending order, every part of her being itched to turn, to meet his eyes and have her questions answered. She wanted, no, she _ needed _ to look at him. Needed to figure out the turmoil living and breathing in her mind. Surely, she wasn’t the only one whose world did a complete one-eighty? 

Before she could decide, Glimmer pivoted on her heels, craning her neck forward as she shot a flirtatious smile her way. 

No, Clove corrected, expression darkening. The blonde from One was directing that come-hither look to Cato. 

Fucking forget it. Just fucking—

Everything she felt and saw was probably a sick product of her mind. It was just the stress of being in the Games catching up to her, she reasoned, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

She didn’t bother to check if Cato responded with the usual smirk or wink he was wont to when girls back home gave him the same inviting glances. Truthfully, when it came down to it, Clove can’t decide which would be worse: if he returned Glimmer’s look or if he was nonchalant or immune to it. 

Rolling her eyes, she focused her gaze right ahead, doing her best to ignore his existence. Crazy, that’s her. She was going absolutely crazy. 

Marvel sauntered by, decked in some bright obscure shade of blue with yellow mustard accents that made her eyes hurt. As he stepped into place in front of her, he let out a long whistle, gaze taking her in slowly. “Huh, you do clean up good.”

She gritted her teeth, ignoring the urge to rip at the tulle brushing against her knee and stuff the scraps into his mouth. Fuck knows what sort of consequences that action will bring.

“Fuck off.”

“No! Really, you look better than I thought you—”

“You thought about me?” she demanded, tilting her chin upwards as she squinted in suspicion. 

If he was referring to what she was thinking, well, fuck the alliance. Marvel was as good as dead.

Behind her, she can feel Cato bristling and really, she wasn’t at all surprised to learn that he was eavesdropping. Fucking nosey bastard. 

“Not like _ that _,” Marvel grinned, the whiteness of his teeth standing out from his tanned skin. “But if I do, you can’t blame me when you and Glimmer are the only Careers worth looking at—”

Was that a growl she just heard?

“Stuff it, One. Anymore and the first person I gut in the Arena is you.”

“Can’t. We’re teammates.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you actually think the alliance will stop me?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll cut it out. Don’t want to get anymore of your feathers ruffled, _ teammate. _” Marvel chuckled as he adjusted his jacket and turned to face front. 

Fucking _ Ones _. It was just her luck that both tributes this year were incredibly noisy, never knowing when to shut up. At least Glimmer had stopped throwing enticing glances over her shoulder when Caesar Flickerman’s voice began booming from the sound system. 

She stared up at the screen, watching the blue-haired Capitol freak, all smiles and grating laughter as he worked the crowd into a frenzy. _ “—Welcome, welcome, welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games! Now, in about five minutes, they’re all going to be out here—all of the tributes that you’ve heard about. Are you excited—” _

A tug on the ends of her hair caught her attention. “Clove.”

Was he… She blinked, shoulders stiffening. Was he actually attempting to talk to her here?_ Now? _

“Yeah?” she whispered, angling her head slightly. 

Again, he tugged on one of her braids, saying nothing.

_ “What?” _

_ “—Let’s see if she does indeed shine. Let’s have a warm round of applause for...Glimmer!” _

“Clovey—” 

“Stop it, you ass,” she hissed, shooting him a glower over her shoulder before directing her attention to the screen. 

This she wanted to watch.

The tall leggy blonde strutted up the stage, greeting the cheering Capitol citizens with a dazzling smile, perfect curls bouncing down her shoulders and Clove was sorely disappointed she hadn’t tripped in those heels. 

Glimmer’s interview was everything Clove had suspected it would be.

_ “Yes, Caesar, I am very prepared. The Games were the only thing I’ve wanted all my life and now that I’m here…” _ The blonde paused, a hand reaching up to rest on her chest. _ “Well...I can’t actually believe this is happening ...That I’m here. It’s like a dream come true. All of you have made me feel so welcomed and I have to confess, aside from District One, this feels like home and all of you, my family.” _

Clove grimaced as a sneer appeared on her mouth. Were people actually buying this?

From the Capitol’s ovation and roars, they were. Un-fucking-believable. 

Enobaria had been right about Marvel’s interview. The boy practically oozed charm and that likeable characteristic that won the Capitol over with little to no effort. He’d been cocky and terribly self-assured while ensuring he included the audience in his answers. She had to admit he was good. Too good.

Soon enough, her turn arrived and she was led up the stage. Praying fervently that she wouldn’t trip, she gathered the front of her dress as she climbed the steps, meeting bright lights and Caesar Flickerman’s grin. Remembering the role she had to play, she slipped a small tiny smirk on her lips as she reciprocated the host’s handshake. 

The starting questions were pretty basic. They were exactly what she’d expected and prepared for. 

Flickerman began asking about her life, her family, growing up and she played along, smiling sweetly and blushing prettily when needed. And then came the other questions that Enobaria had gone through with her.

“Tell me, Clove, how did it feel getting that brilliant score of Ten?”

She forced a smile, crossing her legs demurely. “It was good. But I expected it. In Two, we were trained to the best of our abilities, so I can’t say it was really a surprise for me.”

Flickerman hummed, leaning closer, voice taking a solemn edge. “Of course, of course. But I will admit that when I first saw you on that stage in Two, I had my doubts. But let it be said that those doubts have now been wiped clean!”

Forcing a small laugh, Clove tilted her head, planting a smirk on her lips as she faced the audience. “I know I may be unfairly short compared to the other tributes—the Careers, especially, but I’m an expert in my craft. I will never hesitate before a kill. In fact, I have everyone on a list!”

Flickerman gasped, looking all too delighted and she continued, “Basically, I will never let anything deter me from my goal to win.” 

“So fierce and feisty! I love it!” The host cackled uproariously and addressed the crowd. “Isn’t she absolutely remarkable?” 

When she exited the stage, Clove exhaled heavily, hands bunching the folds of her dress, slowly dragging her feet to where Enobaria was. 

“Good,” the Mentor murmured. “You were good. The Capitol loved you.”

She didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the screen as Cato stalked onto the stage in a predatory fashion, a sneering smirk on his face as he waved at the crowd.

Together, they watched as the blond sat, spreading his legs and leaning against the chair in a notedly ungentlemanly manner and began answering questions with arrogance and nonchalance. 

“What is he—” Enobaria gritted her teeth.

_ “It’s an honour to represent my district— “ _

“That’s not very polite, is it?” she asked when the blond interrupted one of Flickerman’s ceaseless bouts of laughter. 

“No,” the older woman growled. “It isn’t. What the fuck is he doing?” 

_ “You’re a fighter,” _Caesar Flickerman stated, looking gravely serious as he spoke into the mic.

Cato nodded, lounging insouciantly as he rested an arm on the back of his chair._ “Indeed I am. I’m prepared, vicious and ready to go.” _

Clove gaped and Enobaria squawked. “He’s not supposed to say that!” 

_ “All my life, I’ve trained for the Games and now that I’m here... Well,” _ the blond smirked and shrugged _ , “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, no line I wouldn’t cross to win. Doesn’t matter what district any of the tributes are from—I’ll hunt them all down _ — _ ” _

Of course, the Capitol went wild, screaming and giving him a standing ovation that never seemed to end, that even Flickerman himself, struggled to maintain control over them to get to the next tribute. 

Her eyes flicked to the pinched expression on her Mentor’s face. Surprisingly, the older woman remained silent as they waited for Cato to exit the stage. When he did come towards them with an impossibly smug look on his face, she didn’t miss the violent anger that simmered in his eyes or the way the tendons in his neck throbbed.

The first thing she did when they got back to their apartment was to kick off her cumbersome footwear. The heels made a clunking sound when they landed on the ground. Stretching, she stumbled to her room, stripping the orange monstrosity off and ridding her face from the makeup. 

Once she was all cleaned up, she made her way to the main hall where Enobaria and Cato were. The pair were still dressed in their outfits watching the interviews from Six. Briefly, Clove wondered if the older woman had made any comments about the blond not following her outline and strategy. 

If they did, she wasn’t aware of it. 

Eyeing the spot next to Cato, she gingerly sat down, drawing her knees to her chest. Immediately, the strange tension from before began to engulf her. Taking the risk, Clove stole a glance at the blond, only for her to find him watching the interviews with grim determination. 

Debating on staying silent or to say something, she pursed her lips. This awkwardness that clung to them was unnatural and she hated it. They’ve never been like this before and Clove would readily admit that she was at a loss on how to bridge the gaping chasm between them. 

Regarding her earlier unsettledness and confusion, she would readily push it all aside as long as she could have her friend back. 

But how? She was abysmal at discussing her feelings and even worse at expressing them.

Blankly, she watched as the girl from Nine stammered stupidly, eyes darting around the auditorium like a panicked hunted bunny, which she would be, come tomorrow.

“Alright, do you want to tell me what the fuck you were thinking earlier?”

Cato shifted his gaze. “Nothing. I figured it’ll be better than—”

“Than what I planned for you?”

“Look,” he scowled darkly. “One won the crowd with that same act, I just used something that made me outshine him. Isn’t that the ultimate goal? Everyone loved it! What’s the issue?” 

Enobaria arched her brows. “That’s not the only reason. What you said on that stage sounded like a warning. Who was that meant for? Spit it out.” 

Clove blinked. She hadn’t even caught on to that.

“It’s just a friendly reminder to the other Careers that despite the alliance, I won’t hesitate to take action should they—”

“Is this about Marvel? Or Four?” Clove blurted out, facing him.

Their gazes clashed violently and if it was possible, Cato’s glare deepened, a muscle ticking as he clenched his jaw. 

“Marvel?” Their Mentor frowned. “From One?”

“It isn’t!” he snarled, ignoring Enobaria in favour to bare his teeth at her. “I’m just saying that we are not to be crossed, alliance or not. Alright, _ Clovey? _”

While his patronising tone irked her, it was the look of contempt and animosity on his face that did her in.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his chest. “You were the one who’d been pushing for this alliance since the day we arrived! Or is Glimmer not doing a good enough job to keep you happy?”

“You fucking bitch—” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Enobaria bellowed, motioning for them to quieten as she gestured to the screen with a tilt of her chin. “Twelve’s up.”

Not wanting to miss out, Clove settled down, but not without directing another murderous glare his way. Fucking Cato and his stupid self. 

Fire Girl stepped onto the stage looking utterly confused and lost, missing not one, but several cues from Flickerman. With her blunt candid answers that left the Capitol roaring in laughter, Clove scoffed. It still baffled her that someone like _ her _ could get an Eleven in the rankings. But when the brunette began twirling in her dress, flames licking seductively at the skirts, a sinking feeling started to churn in her gut. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, the utter confidence that tinged Fire Girl’s promise to win the Games for her sister left a sour taste in Clove’s mouth. 

No way would she allow that to happen. Not on her watch. 

With a pause in between the tributes from Twelve, she took the opportunity to study Enobaria, whose face was transformed into harsh lines and pursed lips. Cato, on the other hand, was shifting his jaw, eyes hurling daggers at the screen, looking anything but calm as he watched Caesar Flickerman sing praises about the Girl on Fire. 

Well, good. At least they were on the same page about that—Fire Girl had to go. Immediately. Preferably in the Bloodbath.

Unexpectedly, things took a turn for the worst when the boy from Twelve was interviewed. 

It was funny, she realised. Clove hadn’t seen that one coming. She’d been too focused on Girl Twelve the whole week and that was a mistake. It wasn’t just Fire Girl that was trouble, but the both of them. 

_ “Because she came here with me.” _

“FUCK! BLOODY FUCKING—”

Distantly, she could hear Cato’s howl of rage and his subsequent tantrum. For her, Clove was stunned, body frozen as she fixed her attention on the dirty-blond haired boy’s sheepish but melancholic gaze as he regarded the crowd.

Who would’ve thought Peeta Mellark, Baker Boy Extraordinaire, King of Kicked Puppies, Lover Boy of Twelve would’ve managed to spin such a tale? 

It had to be a lie, she decided, squinting. It must be a last-ditched attempt to get the spotlight on Twelve, to collect Sponsors and support from the Capitol. The pair didn’t have the training and the odds were stacked against them. Sponsors and Capitol citizens rooting for them were their only way to have a chance in the Games. 

It was pathetic, but it worked. At least based on the standing ovation in the studio.

“It’s Abernathy, that drunken old fool! He’s the only one with the brains to pull off this fucking bullshit!” Enobaria screeched, looking more furious than Clove had ever seen. “You two!” she barked, dark eyes flashing as she spun to them. “Wipe them out!” 

She didn’t need an order or instruction for that, she already intended to. 

With Twelve standing in their way, snatching supporters to their doomed fate, they were outright enemies. She pressed her lips into a thin line when the pair from Twelve was shown on video once more. Oh yes. Clove would be the one to put a knife in Fire Girl’s heart. 

Even if it killed her. 

She stared up at the ceiling, mind wide awake. It wasn’t ideal, what with the Games starting the next day and with the added possibility of dying in less than twenty-four hours. 

Not that she would allow that to happen if she had a choice. 

Unease and restlessness settled into her stomach like dead weight. Clove huffed, turning to rest on her side as she gazed at the skyline of the Capitol. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew the real reason why she was unable to get any sleep. 

They were to enter the Arena tomorrow. Did she really want her words of anger to be the last ones she spoke to Cato?

Despite the insults and the fight (not to mention that odd encounter before the interview) he was the one person in her entire fucking life that meant something. Yeah, she knew she was going to die in the Games, hopefully just not yet. And in the off chance that she dies in the Bloodbath tomorrow, she wanted to have no regrets. Clove didn’t think she could bear being at odds with Cato _ now_.

Swallowing her pride, she got off the bed and shuffled towards his room. Glad to find his door unlocked, she slipped in, only to find him standing a few feet away. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, taking in the rustled bedsheets and the tormented lines on his face.

“Nowhere. You’re here.”

She lowered her lashes, feeling silly and insipid like those girls she’d seen from Capitol programmes and hugged her arms around herself. “Oh.”

Licking her lips, she opened her mouth, only to feel her throat start to constrict and clog up. Horrified, Clove struggled with the multitude of words she wanted to say, the feelings she wanted to express, the thoughts that wanted to claw their way out of her skull. 

As if sensing the internal battle that warred within her, Cato took initiative and pulled her close, broad arms encircling her small frame as he hugged her.

She stood stiffly, hands lying limply at her sides as she was crushed against his form, her heart pounding erratically. When her brain started functioning once more, Clove squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt—a faint mimicry of their embrace hours ago.

“I know, Clove. I know,” he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

She didn’t know how long they stood there, two statues bathed in moonlight. Clove thought she could actually fall asleep there and then but gently, he shifted them towards the bed. With a tenderness she didn’t know he had, he slid them onto the mattress, pulling the twisted covers over their entwined forms. 

They lay in silence. With her ear on his chest, she could hear the strong steady beats of his heart, slowly but inexorably lulling her to sleep. 

Wait, she exhaled, forcing her eyes open. There was something she had to say before they went into the Arena.

“Cato.”

“Yeah?”

“If something happens to me tomorrow—”

“Shut the fuck up, Clove,” he said, frowning, the light from the window casting shadows against his angular features. 

This time, his words lacked the infamous bite and anger, but what replaced them weren’t any better. Desperation and something akin to grief were laced through that one sentence, revealing a world of emotion and depth she wasn’t privy to before.

Perhaps the blond hadn’t been handling their futures quite as well as she’d initially thought. 

“I’m serious,” she said earnestly, grabbing his chin and jerking his head, forcing him to meet her eyes. “If I’m not around—”

“Not around,” he scoffed. “Fucking nice way to put it, huh?”

“—don’t do anything stupid or dumb that will get you killed. Just keep your focus on staying alive and winning.”

“I’m not talking about this—”

“Cato,” she hissed, digging her fingernails into his jaw. “I’m serious. Promise me.” 

“Fuck you, Clove!”

“Promise me!” 

He glared, pushing away from her slightly, blue eyes glowing seemingly in the dark. “You’re seriously asking that of me?”

“So that you won’t let my death be in vain. So that at least one of us gets to go home,” she said quietly, flitting her gaze away. 

“And if I were to die first?” he challenged. “Would you do the same?”

No, Cato wouldn’t die. She would never let that happen. She’d have to die first. 

“Yes,” Clove answered without hesitation, lifting her eyes. “Now, can you fucking give me that promise already? I’m tired.”

A choked laugh was dragged from his throat. He ran his hand over his face, eyelids closing for a brief moment before those brilliant baby blues were trained on her face once again. “Fine. I promise,” he muttered, slinging an arm around her waist. “But you have to promise me you won’t do anything reckless out there tomorrow.” 

She wrinkled her nose. She, reckless? As if. That was one of Cato’s defining traits_ . _ Not hers.

“Yeah, I promise.” 

Humming, he sighed, “Good.” 

With that, he rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him so that her body was curled against his side, her head resting on his bicep. 

Her mind was in that fuzzy place between sleep and alertness when Cato spoke, breaking the silence.

“Clove?”

“Huh?”

“Just want to say that I think…that I’ve always been....”

Eyes closed, she waited for him to finish his train of thought. 

He did not. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Shrugging inwardly, Clove adjusted her position, fingers still curled into the silk of his shirt as she finally dozed off.

Whatever he wanted to say, he could say it tomorrow. Hopefully, she’d still be alive to hear it. But for now, she was just glad that he was at her side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much loved by me! Also, I think I might have to extend this with another chapter, bringing up the total chapter count to 11 so that I can tie everything up nicely. But we'll see!
> 
> Hope everyone's Monday is going well!


	6. blaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings of violence in this chapter.

_ Ten _

The sudden glare of the sun blinded her. 

Clove winced, eyes straining against the brightness to take in the lush forest of the Arena. This was fine. Rather a forest or anything tropical. Or worse, a frozen wasteland. With District Two practically situated in a desert, she was used to the sparse trees and dry climate near the quarries. She could handle the heat and the glare from the sun, but anything else? No. 

_ Nine _ .

Shifting, she squinted, doing her best to search for Cato amongst the faces of the other tributes. Fuck. She tightened her fists. From where she was positioned, he was close to the opposite end with about twelve tributes separating them. Hell, she couldn’t even see his face from all the way here. 

Fucking Gamemakers.

_ Eight. _

Whipping her head around, she took note of Seven and Three on either side of her before zooming in on the various bags and weapons surrounding the Cornucopia like bait. The shiny gleam of metal caught her notice, and far back, she spotted an impressive array of swords, spears, axes and even a set of bow and arrows. But where the fuck were her knives? They had to have her—

_ Seven. _

There! Right in front of her. From what little she could see, there seemed to be a whole set of them lying in a black vest on the ground not far from where she is. Good. As long as she could reach that before anyone else, she was more than ready and capable to take on anyone. 

_ Six _ .

With that settled, where the hell was Twelve? Or for that matter, Lover Boy? Distractedly, she narrowed her eyes, hoping to catch any glimpses of the pair. Clove scowled, the star-crossed lovers from Twelve were situated closely, making it easier for them to run off hand-in-hand. If she wasn’t aware they were Capitol favourites, she was now. 

Fucking bloody hell, she’d do almost  _ anything _ to get a shot at either of them. 

_ Five _ .

Now, where were the threats? The boy from Eleven? Close to Cato. Boy Ten was three platforms away and Boy from Six was close to the centre. She pressed her lips together. The latter two were too close for comfort and having observed them from training sessions, she knew they would run towards the Cornucopia where she too, was headed. 

Avoiding them till she had her knives was her top priority. 

_ Four _ .

She craned her head, seeking out the other members of the alliance. Catching sight of Ones, she gritted her teeth. What she’d do to trade places with Marvel and Glimmer who were both positioned beside Fire Girl and Lover Boy respectively. On the other hand, the two tributes from Four, were perched close to each other and from the hesitant and apprehensive expressions, Clove wouldn’t count on them being much help in the Bloodbath.

_ Three _ .

The blood roaring in her ears was deafening. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, causing her heart to beat erratically and her palms became sweaty. Swallowing, she took deep breaths while adjusting her stance. The last thing she wanted was to fall flat on her face when the Games started. 

_ Two _ .

It was fine. It was okay. She could do this. Training at the Academy was nothing in comparison to the actual Games. Here in the Arena, there were fewer bloodthirsty tributes, with some willing to hide and run rather than to attack and kill. 

Of course, Clove was not one of the latter few. She was trained for this, had been since she was six and every part of her was primed for a fight. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she lowered her stance, getting ready to sprint the moment the clock hit ‘zero’. 

_ One _ . 

Fluttering her eyes shut and tuning everything out, she exhaled heavily. 

_ Zero _ . 

She pushed herself off the platform, speeding towards the pack of knives she’d spotted earlier. Thank fuck for the multitude of laps she’d run as a trainee. From the corner of her eyes, she could see some of the tributes heading towards the forest, taking the risk of surviving without any of the kits or weapons provided.

Knees dropping down on the grass, she snatched the black vest, running her eyes greedily over the array of knives aligned neatly in their individual pockets. Without waiting, she slipped it over her head, buckling the snaps and tightening the straps tightly as her gaze darted to the blossoming carnage around her surroundings surreptitiously. 

With a quick glance to her right, Marvel had somehow grabbed ahold of a  _ kukri  _ and was already cornering Eight. Glimmer, much to her surprise was enthusiastically attacking the girl from Six with a blade, blood spurting haphazardly from the wound due to the amount of force used. (Who would’ve thought that the blonde was capable of that, anyway?) 

Seeking out her district partner was easy when Cato towered over everyone else on the field. The lightness of his hair, which was further highlighted by the sun’s glare making it all too easy to spot him amidst the Bloodbath and— 

She froze, blood turning to ice in her veins. 

While Cato was distracted with cornering a girl from Nine, Four was creeping up silently behind him, an axe in hand as he attempted to get rid of the biggest competitor in the Games. 

_ No!  _

Gearing into action, she dashed towards the pair, a knife in each hand, all ready to defend and incapacitate. Once she’d reached a good throwing distance, Clove narrowed her eyes and hurled a blade into Four’s thigh with all the fury she could muster.

The boy let out a shriek of pain, hands dropping the weapon as he clutched at his limb. Cato turned, anger flaring on his face once he’d realised how close he’d been at being literally stabbed in the back. With the sword he seized, the blond violently ran the blade through Four’s abdomen with a powerful thrust before pulling out in an equally brutal fashion. 

It was a deserving death for a coward. 

Satisfied that Cato was fine for now and more than able to hold his own, she skimmed the field eagerly, searching for the weaker tributes that were surely now regretting their poorly made decision of going to the Cornucopia instead of making a run for it. Gaze running over the moving figures, she took note of both the active tributes and those that lay on the ground. 

By now, Marvel was actively hunting with a cheery manic grin on his lips as he threw a spear into the heart of Seven before moving on. The boy from Eleven yanked a wicked-looking crescent sword off the golden walls of the Cornucopia and sliced it into his victim’s chest, a survival kit in hand as he disappeared into the tree line.

Clove flicked her eyes around, ever aware of any possible threats as she unsheathed another blade from her vest. 

Where the fuck was Lover Boy or Fire—

There! A few metres away from the tree line, the Girl on Fire was fleeing, a survival kit slung sloppily over her shoulder as she ran towards cover the forests freely provided.

From what she could remember of District Twelve, it was a canopy of forests, eerily similar to that of the Arena. If Fire Girl left the open space of the field, it would be over. She would undoubtedly know where to hide and how to survive amongst the trees. 

Clove couldn’t let that happen. Kicked into action, she dashed after the brunette, digits already curling around the handles of her knives as she prepared to deliver a blade—or two—into Fire Girl’s back. 

Abruptly, Twelve stumbled, falling to the ground on her rear as Nine approached. The boy hovered over her, a hulking piece of metal that was an axe gripped in his hands, all poised and ready to strike—to extinguish the Girl on Fucking Fire.

NO! 

Clove saw red. Twelve was  _ hers _ . Had been since she’d volunteered on her dingy stage back in her district and begun showing them up with her fucking flames and doe-eyed face. Clove would rather die than let anyone take that kill from her. 

Ensuring the proper stance and arming herself with cold-blooded precision, she flung the blade—a thin sturdy one that met its target squarely in the centre of Nine’s back. The boy let out a shrill groan before he choked, blood gurgling from his mouth, hot crimson liquid raining onto Twelve’s face as he dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Gagging as she attempted to curl away from the dead boy, Twelve coughed, eyes widening in horror and panic once she spotted Nine’s killer. 

She smirked, picking up speed as she neared the brunette, every fibre of her being poised to kill. 

Fire Girl hastily did her best to scramble back to her feet, all clumsy movements and stumbling steps and Clove took the opportunity to pitch the final blow. 

She hoped the cameras were focused on them. The Capitol had to remember that there wasn’t any point in supporting the underdog. That tributes from lesser districts were to remain as they were, as  _ inferior _ . That theirs—District Two was the best. Always. And if anything else, no one liked a willing sacrificial lamb. 

However, instead of her serrated knife finding a new home in Twelve’s face, the girl shrieked, holding up the canvas bag as a shield, just in time for the weapon to land sharply into it. 

Clove growled in frustration as Twelve managed to dash off, bag in hand along with the dagger that she’d unwittingly given. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! _

How lucky could one fucking girl be, especially from a district like  _ Twelve?  _

A strangled groan from her right snatched her attention. Turning, a boy she didn’t recognise was on the ground, hands clutching at the gaping wound on his torso as blood trickled out of him at a steady rate. Staring, Clove flicked her tongue out, wetting her lower lip and twirled the dagger in her hand. 

Meeting the boy’s glazed brown stare, she lowered herself to the ground and swiftly dug the tip of the knife into his throat, ending him permanently. 

Killing him didn’t make the rage and irritation go away. In fact, they fuelled her vendetta against the tributes of Twelve. It should’ve been Fire Girl she just killed. Not this nameless kid she couldn’t give a damn about. She would carve her mark into that pale sunken face and she would relish in it. 

“Clove, down!” 

On instinct, she ducked. 

Cato had roared that command at her more times than she could count in her life and she was more than accustomed to it. Jerking her head around, she was just in time to see Six collapsing face down, the machete from his grip tumbling loosely as her district partner stood over him, a scythe in his hand. 

Fuck, she had to focus! Her head could’ve been hacked off right there and then and she wouldn’t even be able to prevent it. Gritting her teeth, she shoved past the glowering disapproving blond. Clove could plot out Twelve’s death in stunning detail later.

Whimpering and hyperventilated pants drew her towards a series of crates near the entrance of the Cornucopia. A young girl from Three shrieked, eyes growing impossibly wide once she caught sight of her. Within seconds, she was gone with a quick slit over her throat. 

Wiping the blood off her knife with the hem of the girl’s jacket, Clove huffed, blowing the loose strays of her hair away from her face. That kill had been terribly dissatisfying, doing nothing to quell the urge of bloodlust and utter destruction that ran through her veins. Naturally, it was unsurprising, District Three had never been known for their stellar skills in combat. 

Stepping out, she surveyed the grassy plains, eyes falling over the dead bodies scattered all over the field, turning the grass a deep dark red. Around her, the remaining four tributes paused, wiping blood off or simply catching their breaths as they waited. 

And finally, the cannons sounded. 

Cato stomped towards her, sidestepping the dead tributes in his path, a sword in hand as he ran his bloodied fingers through his hair. “You good?”

She nodded, wiping blood stains off her blades methodically. 

“How many did you get?” 

Clove scowled, mouth twisting as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Not nearly as much as I thought I would.”

“Which is?”   


“Three.”

He snorted, crossing his arms. “That number would be down by at least two if I hadn’t come to save your ass.”

She ignored him and decided she was too exhausted and pissed off to point out what a fucking hypocrite he was. “Did you get Lover Boy?”

“No,” he said sullenly. “Fucking prat just ran off into the trees like the coward he is. What else can you expect from Twelve?”

Before she could reply, Marvel sauntered up to them with a feral smile on his face. “Guess what, Boy Four is dead. I found his body with a giant hole skewered through him like he was to be roasted over a spit.”

“I know,” Clove sneered, shoving her knives back into her vest. “Cato and I killed him.” 

“Oh.”

“How many do you think are hiding?” Glimmer questioned sidling up to them while wiping the blood off her face with a scrap of cloth.

“Too many.” Marvel frowned, staring at the bloodied end of his spear. “How many died?”

“Didn’t you hear the cannons?”

“No.”

“Well, why the fuck not?” His district partner glared with her hands on her hips.

“Because I wasn’t listening!”

Unable to bring herself to bother with the endless bickering of One, Clove barged past them and dragged two survival kits to her. Rummaging through the blue and green coloured packs, she found supplies of food, rope, water canteens and medicine, but ultimately, it all depended on which bag anyone managed to get. 

“Argh! Just fuck off, Glimmer! No one bloody cares!”

So much for the alliance, she thought snidely and a tad gleefully. Observing the quarrelling tributes from One and the girl from Four standing to the side apprehensively, Cato looked close to blowing his top with the whole lot of them.

She smirked. The blond fucker deserved this for pushing her into the Career alliance. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roared, easily garnering everyone’s attention. “You two,” he pointed to Glimmer and Girl Four, “Grab the remaining packs and weapons. Organise them into food, weapons, tools and so on.” 

Clove watched, eyes alight with amusement as Glimmer scowled heavily, flipping her braids over her shoulder before doing as he commanded. 

Who knew that Cato would be so easily established as the pack leader? She figured he’d have a harder time wrangling the lot of them. Apparently not.

“While they’re doing that, you can go search the other tributes for weapons.” He directed to Marvel with a malicious sneer.

“Sure.” Undaunted, the brown-haired boy grinned, twirling his spear single handedly. “Nothing describes the Hunger Games more than raiding dead bodies.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, tightening the straps of her vest. 

Cato grabbed her arm. “You are?”

She narrowed her eyes, daring him to say something. 

He shifted his jaw before releasing her. 

With a tilt of her chin, she trudged off towards the first body, hands never far from the knives on her chest as Marvel trailed behind her. 

They first reach the girl from Six and she grabbed the small axe on the ground, hooking it to the belt of her vest. Her companion shrugged, heading off towards the next nearest body. She watched him with measured eyes, cataloguing every single thing the Career took. 

Unbeknownst to her district partner, following Marvel was simply a precaution. 

Amongst the Careers, the boy from One was easily the next biggest threat. Clove didn’t want to give him a single opportunity to spring any surprises onto them. With her here, the Career couldn’t have the chance to sneak weapons from the dead tributes onto himself without anyone being the wiser. Besides, it wasn’t like he could get away with killing her. The rest of the pack were nearby. 

Regardless, with all that was said and done, she was still confident in being able to take him head on. After all, a spear could only do so much damage when it came to close combat. 

Marvel began whistling a jaunty tune as he dug through the bag the boy from Seven had claimed before dying.

Ignoring him was harder than it seemed, considering they were raiding dead bodies. Bodies of kids who died because of them. She averted her eyes, sidestepping what seemed to be the gory remains of some girl she did not recognise.

“Would you shut up?” She shot him a dirty look when Marvel released a note too high that it grated on her nerves. The boy grinned as they headed to the fifth figure on the ground, congealed blood staining the grass into a rust-coloured mess. 

This one must have met her end at the hands of either Cato or Glimmer. 

Averting her eyes, she pried the short spear from the girl’s twisted fingers.

“I fucking mean it!” she snapped, whipping her head around to shoot Marvel a withering glare.

“Of course,” he said grandly with an exaggerated bow, snatching up a coil of rope. “But... only if you tell me what’s the deal with you and Cato.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

Marvel raised his brows as he squatted on the opposite end of the body. “Are you really playing that game?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” 

“Come on,” he smirked infuriatingly. “I’m not blind. I see the way he looks at you. You sure you’re just mere district partners?”

“We were friends growing up,” Clove answered curtly, refusing to meet his eyes as she dusted off a blade. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added with a sneer. 

“Just friends?” 

She glowered, sheathing the knife into an empty space on her vest. “Is there a point of you opening your mouth or do I have to shut it permanently for you?”

Marvel ignored her, a growing smile forming on his lips as he stood up. He turned to the Cornucopia. “I find it hard to believe that you’re just friends from the way he’s looking at you, especially now…”

Hating herself for taking the bait, Clove glanced back. 

Unsurprisingly, Cato was watching them with a hard look on his face, hands holding onto both a sword and spear with casual deceptive ease. To even think him unprepared would be a fucking insult. She’d seen how accurate his aim was with a spear. But whereas he was proficient with the long weapon, swordsmanship was his craft. Just like knives were to her.

Abruptly, the blond turned away, his back facing them. 

She growled, fighting the very longing to stab Marvel. “That’s how he always looks!”

“Not true.” A knowing arrogant glint shone in his eyes. “He looks like he wants to kill me.”

“This is the Hunger Games, you idiot. Of course he wants to kill you.”

“Touché.”

Rolling her eyes so hard—that Clove figured they ought to be stuck at the back of her sockets—she gathered their haul of weapons and supplies and stalked back towards the glistening walls of the Cornucopia. Hopefully by now, either One or Four had found some water because she was fucking parched. 

“You know, I wonder…”

An arm fell over her shoulder, dragging her close to a less built form than she was used to. Clove froze as she was spun around and only snapping into action when the Career inched closer. Dropping the food and weapons, she jammed her elbow into Marvel’s gut before pummeling her fists into his sides. 

The Career groaned, shielding his sides with his arms while doing his best to defend himself. However, with her having fought bigger and better boys all her life, she was more than adequate. With a well-calculated move that left him winded and with a bloody nose, she swung around, grappling for the position of being on top. Pinning the boy down, a foot on each arm, she bared her teeth into his face.

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” she hissed, hurling out a small knife and pressing it into his cheek. 

Marvel choked as she applied pressure against his throat with her forearm. “It was just a test!” he managed, gagging. “Meant nothing!”    


Clove eyed him, curling her lip and watched his face reddened before turning a fascinating shade of purple. 

“Do that again,” she began slowly, shoving the tip of the blade against his throat until a bead of blood welled up. “And I’ll end you right here and now. Got it?” 

The Career nodded jerkily and she released him, staring at him with utter loathing and disdain. Of all the fucking idiotic things she’d seen and done today, this had to happen. She clenched her teeth. She did not survive the bloodbath to be pawed at of all things. 

“God, you Twos are certainly intense,” the boy wheezed, staggering to his feet as he held onto his nose to stem the bleeding. “And I thought Cashmere was kidding. Lighten up, will you? The Games have barely begun!”

She did not respond. 

“Did he touch you?” Cato demanded the minute she arrived back to their temporary camp.

She wrinkled her nose. “What’s it to you?” 

“ _ Clove. _ ”

Ignoring him, she made a move to walk past him until she noticed the collar of his shirt was seeped with a growing amount of blood. 

“You should get that checked,” she pointed out, gesturing to the pile of medication on his left. “Wouldn’t want you to die from blood loss.”

“Fine,” he muttered, not looking as though he was paying attention to a single word she was saying. 

She followed the direction of his eyes, only scoffing to find that Marvel was the recipient of his death stare. Of-fucking-course. Since the start of the Games, Cato had never liked Marvel for reasons she didn’t know. 

Stupid boys. 

Cursing under her breath, she cracked her knuckles and began rummaging through the medicine provided. 

It was more than fortunate that she’d made it out of the Bloodbath unscathed. But it was a fucking miracle that she and Cato were alive and well—not counting whatever minor injury that was causing the blood flow. So far, it had been relatively easy. But she doubted it would stay that way for long. 

The Games needed excitement and what else provided that than tributes struggling through trials and difficulties? 

Picking up a jar filled with ointment that she recognised were used to treat open wounds, she chucked it at Cato’s direction, enjoying the yelp he emitted when the metal container hit him in the head. 

Where Cato was nicked in the shoulder from a wayward axe and Marvel with a small cut over his bicep, the Careers were more or less untouched. 

Thank fuck for that. 

She didn’t think she could deal with the bitching and moaning from an incapacitated Glimmer or Marvel. The former would irritate her with her clinginess to Clove’s district partner and superior attitude, while the latter was sure to rattle off endlessly, driving her mental. Who knew tributes from One were like  _ this?  _ At least Four was silent. Perhaps, Clove would show her appreciation by making her death a merciful one. 

With medication applied, bandages wrapped around scrapes and cuts, they gathered items deemed necessary into small packs and set out in search of water. 

With Marvel leading the group and Glimmer and Four in the centre, she was left with Cato.

Gritting her teeth, she hacked violently at a shrub with her knife when one of its branches whacked her in the face for the third time in the last hour. “Fucking plants,” she swore under her breath. “Fucking forests, just—fucking everything!” 

“Look, we’re here, One has found some water. Now calm the fuck down, Clovey.”

She sulked, glaring at him from under lashes. She refused—absolutely refused to lift her head up and give Cato the satisfaction of looking down at her. “It’s all your fucking fault.” 

“Is it?” he asked mildly, not looking one bit concerned. “That’s cute,” he added, smirking as he flicked at her bobbing ponytail.

“Don’t,” she growled, smacking his hand away. “It’s stupid.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tugged at the ends again. 

Glancing up at him, she furrowed her brows. Cato was unusually lighthearted and open. She would’ve thought he’d be more solemn and pissed off after the Bloodbath for missing Twelve. Especially, when he had to maintain his facade of being a sociopathic killer for the masses watching. Also, did he really have to sound so unbothered and amused when she felt like screaming? 

“I mean it, you know. This is your fault,” she hissed, jabbing her index finger into his chest. “This alliance is fucked and you know it. Because of you, I’m stuck with idiots who don’t ever shut up, idiots who are completely useless and idiots who are a complete waste of air!” 

“Present company excluded?” he asked, lips twitching, blue eyes bright. 

“No!” She growled through clenched teeth. “You’re one of said idiots! In fact, you’re all three of them! I couldn’t believe you got me into this!”

His smile faded. For once, Cato failed to respond with a snarky comment or an acerbic bite. 

Somehow, she felt that she’d crossed a line that she wasn’t aware of. Clove blinked and stumbled as Cato shoved past her, quickening his pace towards Glimmer’s side.

What? She frowned. What had she said? 

Before she could ponder more on the subject, Marvel let out a triumphant crow as he dragged a boy from his hiding spot beneath some thick shrubs. 

“Lover Boy! So glad you can join us tonight!” 

Clove’s eyes widened as Twelve was pushed to the ground, mouth inhaling dirt. 

Scanning their surroundings, her eyes darted from tree to tree, hoping to catch some glimpse of Fire Girl. Surely his bitch of a district partner would intervene by now. They had to be sticking together, right? Especially after that awful fucking love confession on stage. 

She turned back to the pack. By now, Cato was all but swinging his sword anticipatory, moving in for the kill, eyes alight with vindictive fire as Marvel crowed and jeered. 

“Gut him, Cato!” Glimmer encouraged. 

“I’m going to enjoy this,” the blond declared, giving a harsh kick into Bread Boy’s gut. “You should’ve known better than to try to upstage us. Let’s see if your girlfriend can save you now.”

Her gaze snapped to Twelve, mind running. 

“Stop!” Clove shouted, jostling past the group surrounding the sandy-blonde haired boy. “Wait—” 

“What is it now?” Cato looked downright irritated as he swung around to face her. 

Scowling, she dismissed him to look down at the pathetic heap on the ground. “You can lead us to your girlfriend,” she said, tilting her head. “Or you can die right here. Your choice, Lover Boy.” 

“W-what makes you think that I—”

“Don’t take me for a fool, you know where she is, or where she’s probably headed. And since she hasn’t come swinging in to aid you, it means she’s off on her own,” she said scornfully. “And you’re going to bring us to her. Or I’ll let Cato gut you like the scum you are.”

Marvel shot her an impressed glance, a smirk on the corner of his mouth. 

“So what’s it to be, Bread Boy?” she pressed, a foot stomping harshly on his arm. “Better hurry, this gift of choice has an exceedingly short expiry date.”

“Yes!” Twelve groaned, voice muffled from the ground. “I know where she went.”

So much for the declaration of love. It was like what they’ve thought, just a simple act to gain favour from the Capitol. Pathetic, she mused, that the Games had somehow evolved so that moronic tricks like these were the winning factors.

She scoffed, releasing his arm, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Wise choice.” 

Marvel cheered, whooping with delight as he jerked Twelve to his feet. “Welcome to the alliance, Lover Boy.”

She sharpened her knife, placing the blade at a twenty degree angle against the whetstone before making a hard gliding motion. The sound of the metal making contact with the stone was piercing and yet soothing to her. It was contrary. But then again, when had she ever liked the norm? Exhaling, she adjusted her grip and repeated the action. 

The group had set up camp several hours before nightfall. Surprisingly, Marvel was an adept cook with Four aiding him with the pre-prepared meat from their supplies. Twelve was sitting in a corner quietly, blue eyes darting warily around the campsite as though mutts were to appear any second, whereas Cato and Glimmer were missing in action. Clove didn’t even want to think about what they could be up to. 

She swallowed, recalling the utter look of delight that appeared on Glimmer’s face when Cato struck up a conversation willingly, their sides brushing as they walked. 

Unwittingly, the knife slipped from her grip, landing with a small thump against the foot of a tree. 

“What the fuck are you looking at, Lover Boy?”

Twelve shook his head. “Nothing.” 

She sneered, getting up to retrieve the weapon while cursing every goddamn thing in the world. 

“Just make sure you keep those damn eyeballs to yourself,” she said derisively, running a finger over the edge of her knife until a cut welled up. “I’ve been itching for a target to practice with.” 

He blanched, immediately diverting his gaze to the ground. 

“Oh, come on, Clove,” Marvel grinned as he approached. “He’s one of us now. Be nice.” 

Aghast, she grimaced as he offered a hunk of meat from a stick to Twelve.

“It’s Peeta. Peeta Mellark,” Lover Boy murmured, slowly taking the proffered meal with caution. “Thanks.” 

“No worries,  _ Peeta _ ,” the Career greeted cheerfully before whistling the same merry tune from earlier as he tore into his portion of the food. 

Fuck, what would Enobaria think about her breaking bread with the enemy? Clove winced immediately at the thought. 

“Besides, you still owe us Fire Girl’s location and I'm afraid I’ll have no choice but to let Clove carve your eyes out if you fail to deliver,” Marvel added with the same cheery tone. 

Somehow, that made the warning all the more sinister. 

Clove leaned back on her log, taking small chews into her bread. At least one fucking person here was on the same page as her! But did it have to be Marvel, of all people? Bloody hell. At this point, she would settle for Four. 

Twelve flinched, blue eyes meeting her gaze for the barest of moments before they darted down to the knives on her vest. 

“Lighten up, Lover Boy,” Marvel scoffed, crossing his arms before settling down on the empty spot next to her. “Clove wants Fire Bitch more than you.” 

She frowned. How did he know?

“You’re obvious about it, Two,” he remarked, grinning, teeth glinting from the fire. “As you are about everything else.”

“I told you to shut the fuck up, remember?”

Giggles and roaring laughter grew louder and involuntarily, Clove tensed, ignoring the knowing looks sent her way by the Career. Fucking  _ Marvel _ . 

Forget skinning her alive, Clove was going to use the blonde from One as her new whetstone. 

Soon enough, the pair broke into view and she hated how good they looked together. All blonde and blue-eyed, with Glimmer’s height perfectly complementing Cato’s and— She gave a particular vicious shove with her knife against the stone.   


Cato stopped, eyes falling on her and Marvel sharing the fallen log. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching as the muscles in his jaw ticked.

“Let’s go hunting,” he barked. 

With some expected muttered contentions, primarily from Marvel and her, (because they were the only ones who dared to voice their dissent when it came to the blond) they set out, moving figures blending easily in the shadows of the forest. 

Unlike their search for water, Cato led the group and Clove fell back, keeping a steady eye on Lover Boy who fumbled with the spear in his tightly knuckled grip. She might have spared him some extra hours, but she was still determined to end him if he didn’t deliver his district partner.

She didn’t know how long they’ve been walking. It could’ve been hours or a few minutes but Clove was sick of it. What was the point in hunting at night? It wasn’t as though the tributes would be running about in the dense forest at this time. Stupid Cato. 

“Smoke! Right over there!” Four called out, pointing to the consistent plume of grey smoke rising in the air. 

“Finally!” Glimmer beamed, predictably turning towards her blond counterpart. 

Together, they ran towards the source of the fire and Clove rolled her eyes at how much the girl from Eight was begging for death by starting a fire at night.  _ Moron _ . 

“Please!” Eight begged, tears welling up in her eyes as she fell to her knees. “I-I-Please don’t kill me. I promise I’ll—”

In utter astonishment, she watched as Cato handed his sword over to Glimmer. The tribute from One gave a flirty smile as she took it before sauntering over to Eight. With a quick movement of her wrist, the girl keeled over, a sharp piercing scream leaving her throat as hot crimson liquid began to drip down from her mouth. 

“Way to go partner!” Marvel yelled.

Glimmer grinned, eyes finding Clove’s. “Guess we’re tied now—three-to-three. Am I right?” 

Clove glowered, pressing her lips into a thin line before she barged past the blonde. 

“You, Lover Boy,” she snapped. “Time to pay your dues! Where’s Fire Girl?”

Twelve paled as he pointed north. “There. I saw her heading in that direction.” 

As they marched through the forest with Clove leading the group, she hissed silently at Glimmer’s taunt. A tie, huh? She’d love to see that bitch get her hands dirty. A fight till death would be a good way to see who was the best. At this point, she’d do pretty much anything to rip her nails into that smug-looking face and  _ carve  _ and  _ cut _ and— 

“—did you see her face?”

“Please... don’t kill me!” Glimmer mocked in a high-pitched tone, feigning a terrified expression. 

Cato laughed. “That’s a really good impression.” 

Was it really? She scowled, giving a particularly hard stomp on some Capitol creature that dared to run into her path. 

Two hours later and they’d given up the search for the ever elusive brunette. Reaching camp, Clove was all ready to drop dead and fall asleep. She was exhausted. Both mentally, emotionally and perhaps physically (though she could thank the training from the Academy for keeping her stamina at an above average level). 

Abruptly, she paused, staring at their campsite, eyes zeroing in on the three tents. 

From the way everyone stilled behind her, it was safe to presume they too realised the issue at hand. 

“Sooo…” 

“I’m not sleeping with  _ you _ ,” Glimmer huffed, crossing her arms as she glared at her district partner. 

“That’s a surprise,” Clove muttered. 

The blonde glared.

“So, what now?” Marvel groaned. “I can share with…” he trailed off and catching sight of Cato’s glower, he backtracked. “Never mind, then.” 

“Why don’t we cross off who we don’t want to share a tent with? Maybe it’ll be easier?” Four suggested, squeaking when four pairs of murderous gazes were sent her way. 

“Fine,” Clove spat, resting most of her weight on one foot. “I’m not sharing with Ones or Bread Boy.” 

“It’s Peeta,” the aforementioned boy blurted out for what seemed like the tenth time. 

Everyone ignored him. 

“I’m not sharing with Clove or Marvel and Lover Boy,” Glimmer declared, shooting a hopeful look towards Cato. 

Her best friend squirmed slightly but said nothing. 

“Actually, I’m fine with anyone—Hey, why don’t we share, Clove?” the Career from One winked and grinned. “We get along quite well—”

She has had enough. 

“Forget it,” Clove interrupted, snarling. “I’m going to bed.” With that, she pivoted on her heel and stalked towards the nearest tent. 

Fucking morons, the total lot of them, she cursed, scrunching her face. Shedding her vest, she slipped into the sleeping bag and burrowed herself in the softness and warmth. Finally, sleep. 

She was close to dozing off when rustling sounded. Through squinted eyes, she watched as the tent opened and Cato crawled in.

She can’t describe the feelings that rushed through her at the sight of him. He’d chosen her over Glimmer. Quickly, she scowled. Why did she care, anyway? He was the one who had his stupid mood swings and struck off with the blonde, leaving her alone. Angrily, she curled further into herself, resolute in her decision to pretend he didn’t exist. 

That worked well. At least for the first five minutes. 

“Clove.” His whisper broke through the blanket of silence enveloping them. 

“What?”

He paused and Clove swore she could literally  _ feel _ him hesitating.

“Thanks for having my back today.”

It ought to be illegal how a few simple words from him would always make her anger and irritation fade. Clove chewed on her lip furiously. Suddenly, she felt ridiculously petty. Fucking hell.

They were in the Games. None of that mattered. It was all inconsequential. 

With the sudden morose thoughts filtering through her mind, she pressed her mouth into a thin line. Slowly, she turned, facing him. Taking in those expressive blue eyes, the tentative smile and the smudge of dirt on his cheek she found wildly endearing, she lowered her lashes and grimaced.

“Thanks for having my back, too.”

A small boyish grin appeared. “Come here,” he raised his blankets, offering the empty spot next to him. 

“No.”

_ “Clovey.”  _

“Fine,” she muttered, ignoring the way her heart began to pound as she slid across the lumpy floor of the tent and scooted closer. 

Awkwardly, she shifted, burrowing her form against his larger and notedly warmer body. 

No more words were said as sleep beckoned her with its welcoming embrace. Or perhaps, it was just Cato. Nevertheless, her mind entered that fuzzy blankness between alertness and slumber. It was only then that she realised the Games would be drawing to a close, considering half of the tributes had been eliminated in just the first day. 

The clock was ticking. 

Well, Clove figured, if she was to die, she would rather it be by his hands than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated, thank you! We have reached the halfway mark for this and thank you all for supporting me and my trash. <strike>Also, I have so much ideas to write for my clato babies oh my god, i just love them so much, good god.</strike>
> 
> Disclaimer: Any dialogue used from the movies or books do not belong to me but to their rightful owners.


	7. darken

They found Ten. 

Well, technically, Twelve found Ten, but it had been Cato who’d doled out the death penalty. 

Already, thirteen tributes were dead. Soon enough, it’ll just be them and the alliance would dissolve. It all depended on who would strike first. 

Clove eyed the Careers and Twelve. 

She had to make a decision and fast. For all she knew, the others could be planning her death right this very minute. 

Being the biggest threat amongst them, Marvel would be her obvious choice. However, personal preference dictated it to be his district partner instead. Now, that would be a death she would savour till the blonde’s whiny gasping last breaths. The next to go would be Twelve but only after he delivered Flame Bitch. Clove was getting impatient when it came to that. 

Perhaps she’ll set things in motion only after Boy Eleven was gone. Regarding that particular tribute, strength in numbers would certainly trump brute force itself. 

She exhaled quietly, glowering at her woodsy surroundings. 

They’ve been traipsing through the condensed forest all morning until early afternoon, boots crushing fallen leaves and twigs as they hunted. Earlier, they’ve caught the scent of smoke. Quickly, they’ve deduced a fire had to be nearby—a huge one based on the terrible plumes of smoke rising in the sky. 

A forest fire of that magnitude had to be delivered by the Gamemakers. 

“There has to be tributes around the area,” Marvel commented for what seemed like the fifth time in the last few hours. “The Gamemakers wouldn’t purposefully set a fire for no reason.”

“And if there isn’t?” 

“Well, there is!”

“Says who? You’re not a Gamemaker.” Glimmer growled, roughly handling the silver bow in her grip. “We could be walking into a trap!”

If the blonde really was an accomplished archer like she claimed, she had yet to demonstrate any skills or kills with the weapon. Clove pursed her lips, eyeing the quiver of arrows slung over her back that still remained at full capacity. 

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Cato grumbled, slashing at a shrub as he stomped beside her. “You’re giving me a migraine.” 

Glimmer deflated and Clove had to admit feeling immense pleasure at the wounded look on her face at Cato’s abrasive dismissal. 

Unlike their first day in the Games, her district partner had made little to no effort to interact with the blonde, preferring to stick to Clove like glue. The apparent rejection was clearly taking a toil on One for she’d been shooting dark glares in her direction all day. 

Clove scoffed, blowing stray hairs from her face. As if she cared.

“Can’t wait till I get my hands on Twelve,” Cato muttered. “Then we can finally get rid of Lover Boy.” 

She threw him a dirty look. “Fire Girl is mine, Cato. Back off.” 

“Oh?” 

“You can have Lover Boy,” she smirked. “Twelve belongs to me.”

“Is that so?” Cato looked amused and she shoved him. Hard.

“I mean it. It’s personal,” she said, smirking when he tripped over a fallen log. “Plus, she has really nice features. It’ll be a good canvas. The Capitol has blessed me with the perfect knife for the job.”

Her district partner snorted. “We’ll see. First one to pin each other to the ground gets her. Deal?”

Did he think her stupid? As if she could outmatch him in strength when he towered over her by a good seven inches and outweighed her by more than fifty pounds. 

“No way, you idiot,” she scorned, scrunching her nose. “You’ll obviously win.”

“That’s the point, Princess Bitchface.” 

“Pass.” 

“Come on, Clovey,” he begged, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

Before she could reply, Marvel turned, brows raised, a grin on his face. “Clovey?”

Without giving her time to react at someone other than her best friend calling her that, Cato let out a growl and shoved past her, getting into the brown-haired boy’s face.

“Don’t you fucking call her that!” he snarled, blue eyes darkening. The ease and playfulness from his angular handsome features vanished, replaced with a murderous glower that promised utter callousness and brutality. 

Moving on instinct, she clutched his forearm and dug her fingernails into his skin. It was a silent warning. Four against two? The odds were a little uneven if she had anything to say about it. Nonetheless, Clove tightened her grip on a knife, fingers prepared to throw it if the need arose. 

Perhaps the alliance would be broken earlier than she thought. 

Four bit her lip, flitting her gaze nervously from the two separate camps—One and Two—whereas Lover Boy’s eyes were wide as he stepped back. Clearly, he intended to avoid being dragged into a fight between the two Career groups. 

Glimmer pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as they darted between the two Career boys. Notedly, she didn’t move from her spot in the center. 

Just from that, Clove couldn’t tell which side the blonde would take if it came down to a fight. She shifted, green eyes keeping a wary watch on all four of them. She wouldn’t risk being careless now.

The tense silence continued.

From the corner of her eyes, Cato’s fingers twitched around the handle of his sword and already she could envision him tearing into the older boy with viciousness and satisfaction. She had seen him practice with that weapon all her life. Marvel would be a goner within seconds. 

But remembering the problem that was Fire Bitch and Eleven, she gently squeezed his arm, hoping that would break into the rage clouding his mind. Having Marvel on their side when they confronted the two from the lower districts would be ideal. Sure, she had absolute faith in her and Cato’s abilities to take either but it was risky at best. When it came to their lives, Clove would rather deal with blabbermouth Marvel than Death himself. 

If Cato was aware of what her stand was, he didn’t respond. 

She went to Plan B. Mentally, she began laying out different scenarios of who to go after the minute her district partner’s sword struck its second victim of the day. 

Glimmer would be first for the blonde was indeed capable of being a threat as shown during the Bloodbath. That would be then followed by Lover Boy, simply because Clove hated him for his stupid love declaration. Or maybe she would save him for last, to savour his death. Who knew?

Just as she thought that Cato would finally lunge based solely on the sudden slight movement of his shoulders, the standoff ended when Marvel took a step back. 

“Alright, man.” He raised his hands, palms facing them as he grinned. “Duly noted.” With that, he continued leading the group along the trail, whistling cheerfully as though he hadn’t been seconds away from being torn to shreds.

To his credit, Cato backed off, a sullen twist on his lips as he sneered at One’s retreating form. 

Straightening, she released her hold on his arm and clenched her jaw. Despite the diminished threat, she did not let go of her blades as they followed the group. 

Together, they walked, albeit at a slower pace and she shot him an exasperated glare. 

Curling his lip, Cato huffed but said nothing. 

Despite the close brush with death, the squabbling and arguments resumed as though nothing was amiss. 

“Are we almost there yet?”

“How would I know?”

Glimmer hissed, “Because you’re the one leading the way through this godforsaken forest!” 

“At least there’s water up front,” Four pointed out. 

“Yeah, and so?” Marvel rolled his eyes as a small lake came into view. “We already have water.”

“Doesn’t hurt to have more, does it _ ?” _ Glimmer grouched, retorting sharply as she tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “If you want to die from dehydration, be my guest!”

Maybe Cato should have done away with Marvel, hence dissolving the alliance. Clove didn’t think she could take anymore complaints or quarreling without snapping into a bloodlust-fuelled frenzy and going after each and everyone of them.

“Wait!” Marvel paused, pointing eagerly to the lake. “Oh, there she is! There she is! It’s Fire Girl!” 

Clove perked up, head snapping towards the given direction.

The Girl on Fire was sitting in the lake at the left side of the lake, face marred with soot and dirt. Upon hearing Marvel’s triumphant cry, she gasped and began to scramble her way out of the lake. However, her soaked clothes and survival pack weighed her down and she wasted a few seconds stumbling against the slippery mossy banks.

In her panic to flee, Clove let out a laugh as they began to chase after her panicked panting form.

Finally! 

“She’s mine!” Cato declared loudly, pushing himself ahead as he quickly gained distance on Twelve. 

No! Not on her watch! Gritting her teeth, she forced herself after him, surpassing Four and Lover Boy. Fire Girl was hers, damnit!

Unsurprisingly, no one was able to catch Twelve when she scaled the tallest tree in the area. Like she’d suspected, the tribute was well-versed in forests like these. Sword in hand, Cato attempted to climb the tree but fell when he grabbed at a weaker branch that snapped under his weight. Glimmer, who finally showed her supposed prowess in archery slung an arrow that missed the girl by inches. 

Archery. Right. 

Clove was still sticking to her initial theory of how the girl from One had got her Eight. 

Watching Cato take the proffered bow and arrow was almost laughable with the memory of the first and only arrow he’d shot back at the Academy still fresh in her mind. But she daren’t voice her amusement. The blond was in a horrible sullen mood from his fall and wounded pride. 

To add further salt into the injury, Twelve taunted them, voice tinged with mockery and laughter. “Maybe you should throw the sword.” 

Cato howled, shaking from barely suppressed anger and Clove suspected he would do something stupid in the next few minutes if she didn’t stop him. 

“Let’s just wait her out.” 

They all turned and faced Lover Boy who squirmed from the sudden attention. 

“She’s gotta come down at some point,” he added quietly, unable to hold anyone’s gaze longer than a few seconds. “It’s that or starve to death. Let’s kill her then.”

Feeling Cato’s assessing gaze, Clove paused and gave a curt nod, answering his unspoken question. 

“Okay.” The blond sneered, moving to face Bread Boy, an ugly look on his face. “Someone start a fire.” 

As the rest dispersed, Clove lingered, head craning upwards to catch for any glimpse of the Girl on Fucking Fire. By now, Twelve was so high up in her nest that there was not a single sight of her. 

God, she couldn’t wait to get her hands—and knives—on her. She’d missed the opportunity during the Bloodbath. She wouldn’t miss it now. Really, one girl from a lesser district like Twelve was not worth this much fuss and effort. Oh, the things she’ll do to that pretty face.  _ Cut _ and  _ carve _ and  _ slice _ and  _ break.  _ She’ll do it all. 

“Uhm, Clove,” Lover Boy began timidly, shuffling closer. “Cato is calling for you.”

He was still here? 

She turned on her heels, narrowing her gaze at the boy whose hair was a shade or two darker than Cato’s. Studying him, she tilted her head, taking in the manner he shrunk away from her, back hunching as though he was limiting her view on him. 

Why the fuck was he still here? Shouldn’t he be setting up the campfire now? Or was he here for his district partner? She tilted her head, eyes hardening. Was Bread Boy trying to help Bitch on Fire without any of them being the wiser? 

When Cato bellowed for her once more, she curled her lip, sauntering past Lover Boy slowly, eyes never leaving his. 

Whatever he was trying or planning to do, Clove was determined to be the first to know. She wasn’t going to let anyone from Twelve get the upper hand. Not when it came to the Girl on Fire. 

That night, the six of them sat around the fire amicably. 

Glimmer and Marvel talked incessantly while Four occasionally gave her input whenever a common topic came up. Bread Boy was in a corner all on his own as he bit into a hunk of meat, choosing not to participate in anything despite Marvel’s intermittent vocal invites. 

Clove couldn’t blame him. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t participate in anything with the other Careers either. 

Cato was still surly, obviously furious as he tore into his meal with ferocity befitting a Capitol mutt and its prey. She understood. She too, was frustrated with how things were turning out. Instead of draining Twelve of all the blood in her scrawny body, they were sitting and waiting around like idiots. 

Enobaria was sure to be pissed with the shitshow they were giving. 

“Keep an eye on Lover Boy,” she muttered to Cato after a moment. “I think he’s still helping her.”

“Helping her? He’s the one who suggested we wait her out.”

She shrugged, chewing on her meat. “You and I both know that we could’ve gutted her in that tree. He seems to be buying her time.” 

Cato shot an incredulous glance before glancing up at the tree. “Maybe,” he answered noncommittally before giving Boy Twelve a churlish glare. “Maybe.”

The sound of buzzing woke her up. 

Shrill screams could be heard and Clove snapped up, all vestiges of sleep leaving her when Cato grabbed her hand. Tugging her harshly, it felt as though her arm was going to be pulled from her socket.

“RUN!” He shouted, dragging her after him. “FUCKING RUN, CLOVE!” 

Tracker jackers. 

Geared into action, she screeched, hands swatting at the cursed wasps, legs pumping as she tried her best to keep up with Cato’s killer pace. Behind her, she could hear Glimmer’s warbled screams and Four’s shrieks of  _ come back  _ and  _ help _ and  _ please _ . She didn’t heed them, simply forcing her body to work harder, to run faster. 

Hell, she didn’t even know where Marvel or Bread Boy was and she didn’t care. Cato was with her and that was all that mattered. 

However, all the sprinting she did would never enable her to outrun the wasps. From the sudden flashes of pain on her face, neck and her hands, she knew she’d been stung. It wouldn’t take long for the venom to spread, bringing her immense pain and hallucinations. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. _

Breathing heavily, she continued running, pushing herself through the pain of the poison flooding through her system. With her surroundings coming as a rush—trees shifting and tilting, ground seeming to cave under her feet, she swore amidst her pants for air.

Cato was still dragging her behind him as he ran. Clove figured she just had to keep her eyes on him. That’s all. 

She didn’t know if the venom was starting to spread in her system. But that uncertainty was dashed when she fell and found the ground to be a suspicious fusion of red and green. 

Oddly enough, gravity seemed to have failed when she didn’t face plant on the ground. She squinted as Cato’s face came into view, all lopsided and funny looking. His mouth was working anxiously, face earnest as he gestured wildly. 

Huh, she couldn’t even hear him. What was he saying? Plus, she’d never noticed how funny his hair looked when it was all stuck up like grass. 

She started to laugh, her hands wobbling in the air as she fought for balance as the sky rotated. The Capitol was indeed amazing with its incredible engineering of the Arena. She’d never seen this before. 

“—you just snap out of it! Clove, please!” 

Was she flying? It seemed like it. She’d never flown before but now that she’d experienced it, she wanted to fly forever.

“Clove!” 

Was Cato still shouting? God, he needed to take a break and relax. She tried to frown to show her disapproval but honestly, she didn’t even know if her eyebrows were working—she couldn’t even feel her face. Wait, why couldn’t she feel her face? She ought to ask Cato. Maybe that would help. He should know the answers. He always did.

She tried to open her mouth but what came out was just a mess of sounds that simply didn’t make sense. 

The remains of her awareness fled when her foot caught onto something. Stumbling, she coughed, chest wracking and Clove found herself falling and finally, everything went black. 

She opened her eyes, wincing at the brightness of the sun. 

What the fuck. 

Groaning inwardly, she shifted, only to find herself wrapped up in a cocoon. Hastily, she kicked at the covers of her sleeping bag, crawling out feeling like she’d been knocking at Death’s door with a sledgehammer. 

Getting some of her bearings back, she glanced around, trying to make sense of things, only to find herself under the shelter of the Cornucopia. She furrowed her brows, mind running as she tried to figure out what the fuck she was doing back here and how and what was the last thing she remembered.

Tracker jackers. Fire Bitch. Glimmer screaming. Running and nothing else. 

She knew she’d been stung and Cato had been— 

Cato. 

Clove stopped, tensing, feeling like she’d been suckerpunched in the gut. 

Where was Cato? 

Hastily, she scrambled to her feet, head whipping about frantically to catch sight of the blond. There were food and supplies, the three tents, an extinguished campfire but no Cato. 

Terror clawed at her chest. Something was squeezing her organs in a vice-like grip and her skin was stretched tautly over her bones. Despite gulping for air furiously, it didn’t ease the tension and strain in her body. Panic was flooding her veins, fuelling the adrenaline racing through her veins.

Visions of her best friend fighting for his life against Twelve or worse—Eleven, or him  _ dying _ somewhere filled her mind. She blinked rapidly, taking shuddering gasps. What if his body was currently being carted away by the Capitol hovercraft and here she was not even aware of it?

“Cato?!” She shouted, pivoting on her heel, scanning the grassy plains for any sight of the blond.  _ “Cato!”  _

_ Please be alright, _ she begged inwardly, her breaths coming out as tortured pants when the tightness in her heart increased. _ Please be alive! _

“Clove?” 

Her head snapped to the right. 

“Clove!” 

Her knees fell to the ground as waves of relief crashed over her once she caught sight of him running towards her. 

He was there. He was fine. He was  _ alive _ . 

Large arms banded around her, pulling her close and Clove closed her eyes. Against his chest, she relished in the feel of him, of his strong beating heart. 

_ He was okay. He was okay. He was okay. _

Repeating those three words like a mantra in her mind, she finally relaxed. So relieved was she, that great gasping hiccups left her throat, her heavy exhales muffled into the cotton of his shirt. 

“You’re alive,” she mumbled, dazed. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I am.” 

Upon hearing the smile in his voice, her eyes snapped open. Pulling away slightly to see the small grin on his face, she snarled and threw a fist into his cheek. “Where the fuck were you?” She screeched, “I thought you were fucking dead, you bloody traitorous bastard!” 

“Stop it,” Cato frowned, grabbing her wrists. “I’m fine. I promise. And calling me a traitor is rude, Clovey.” 

She hissed, spitting, struggling to wrench her hands away. “You’re a fucking piece of work, asshole!” 

“Yeah, okay. Cut it out. Stop overreact—” 

The irritation and disbelief in his tone grated and she raged. The sheer fucking nerve of him! 

Fuelled by a contrary mix of murderous fury and relief, she howled and lunged at him, shoving him hard when he least expected it. Together, they fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses. With a well-calculated move, she straddled and pinned him down, curled fists making multiple impact with his broad chest. 

“Fuck off!” he shouted, doing his best to shove her off. “Clove, get off! Stop it!” 

She ignored him, fingers wrapping around his throat when a pair of arms grasped her, snaking around her waist before hauling her off. Clove shrieked, fighting and clawing to get free. 

“Don’t fucking touch her, One!” Cato roared. 

As quick as she’d been dragged off, she was dumped to the ground in the same fashion, her legs crumbling into a boneless heap under her as she panted, fingers digging into the dirt as she blinked hard. The sudden fury disappearing as fast as it came. 

“You okay?” Her district partner lowered himself down, fingers cradling the sides of her face. “Clove.  _ Clove.  _ Look at me.” 

She did, raising glassy eyes. “I _ …  _ I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. I guess that’s what Enobaria meant about the venom still lingering in your system despite the medication,” he mumbled. “It’ll wear off. Come on.” 

He pulled her up and she complied, feeling like a puppet as he led her towards one of the logs, pushing a flask of water into her hand. 

“Drink.” 

She shook her head, grimacing. “What happened after—”

Cato looked grim. “Fire Bitch dropped a nest of tracker jackers on us. Four and Glimmer weren’t so lucky.”

“I say, we make her death the closing act, the ultimate kill that everyone will remember.” 

She frowned to her left, mind finally registering the bedraggled sight of Marvel swinging his spear. “You’re still alive?” 

“Sorry to disappoint. But yes, I’m very much alive and kicking.” 

Snorting, she turned back to Cato. “And?”

“Drink your water first,” he ordered, jerking his chin in the direction of the cup. 

Clove took a sip, making a grand show of it. “ _ And?” _

“You were right. After I pulled you away from the scene, I followed Lover Boy when I saw him heading back. Caught him telling Fire Bitch to make a move for it—”

“I hope you made mincemeat out of him,” she interjected, scowling. 

Cato smirked before gesturing at her cup, prompting her to finish it. “I did. Cut him up with my sword real deep. He should be dead in a matter of days. Although I got stung and was a little out of it for awhile, you were worse. Luckily, Enobaria sent some medicine. But she claimed that the venom will linger in your system for a day or so.”

“Oh.” She slumped her shoulders before turning to Marvel and grimacing. “Then what about him?”

“Him?” The blond scoffed. “Managed to find him stumbling about nearby and I shoved the leftover medication down his throat. He woke up yesterday.” 

She started.  _ “What? _ How long was I out?” 

“Three days, give or take. That’s what I think, anyway— Can you just finish your fucking water?” 

“Fine,” Clove snapped, chugging the whole thing down and chucking the empty flask at his head. “Happy?” 

“Extremely,” he said dryly. “Now,” he handed a loaf of bread into her hands, “eat that and finish it.” 

Just to be contrary, she almost hurled it back at him like she’d done with the water flask. But with the way he was clucking at her like a mother hen, ensuring she was well and whole...her heart swelled. Clove will only bravely admit to herself that she was delighted at this given amount of attention from him. So, she took a large bite and chewed.

It wasn’t until the sweet flavour of the bread hit her tongue that she realised how hungry she was. Suddenly, she had a flashback, a sense of déjà vu of the first time Cato had handed her his sandwich when they were kids. The end result being their friendship. 

She swallowed roughly. That had been  _ years _ ago. 

“Who else was gone?” she asked, shaking the memories away.

Marvel shrugged, rolling his neck from cricks. “Other than Glimmer and Four, no one else. Somehow Fire Bitch escaped and Lover Boy is still hanging on.”

Well, she shrugged, finishing up the remains of her bread and tearing into the small portion of meat Cato immediately handed to her. She can’t say she was sorry that Glimmer was gone. The combination of the girl from One and tracker jackers? It must have been a glorious sight.

It was just a shame she’d missed the whole event. 

As she licked her fingers clean, savouring the salty taste of smoked meat, a flicker of movement at the edge of their camp caught her eye.

“Who the fuck is that?” she demanded. 

Without waiting for an answer, she unsheathed a knife, springing to her feet. 

Being unconscious for days, Clove wanted— _ needed _ —to up her kill count. No longer could she be seen as weak, but as a serious contender. Muscles tensing, she was all ready to toss it at the boy from Three when the blade was snatched from her grip. 

“What the he—”

“He’s on our side,” Cato snorted as Three took a step back, a frightened look on his face. 

“You’re kidding.” She scowled. “Since when do we start taking in tributes from lesser districts into the alliance?”

“Since they claimed they could rework the mines into surrounding our supplies to prevent anyone from stealing,” the blond said, jerking his head to the large crates of food and medicine and weapons stacked into a pyramid. “And only the three of us would know how to get around the trap.”

“How do we even know if it works? He could be lying and we wouldn’t even know.” 

“True,” Marvel nodded from his seat. “But if Three wants to keep his head, he’ll be smart and do as he’s told.”

“Actually, my name is—”

“Shut up,” Cato interrupted, shooting the younger boy a glower. “No one cares.” 

Clove turned away, eyeing the structure critically. 

While the idea had its merits and some benefits, the risk the whole thing posed outweighed the positive. Having their supplies guarded by ticking time bombs seemed pretty stupid. If someone were to set them off, their reserves would be gone and where would that leave them? Hungry and pathetic. 

“Here, eat.” Another loaf of bread was shoved in her face. 

She blinked. “Why?”

“Take the damn bread and eat it. You’ve been out for too long.” 

“So what? I’m fine,” she snapped, pursing her lips. “And I just ate, remember?” 

“Just eat it!” 

“No!” 

“You’ll be a fucking liability if you don’t!” Cato sneered. “I’m not going to pick up your slack should things go wrong!” 

Nostrils flaring, she bared her teeth, rising to her feet once more. “A liability? Me? Fuck you, Cato! You’re one to talk! You and your fucking big mouth—”

“Look! Can you shut up and eat that damn bread so Cato can stop being a naggy crybaby?”

Cato’s face darkened, mouth twisting into a snarl as his eyes flashed. His huge form rose from his log as he turned towards the remaining Career from One.

If looks could kill, Marvel would not only be dead but be perpetually tormented in his afterlife. 

Any other time, Clove would’ve come to the blond’s defense. Only she was allowed to get away with being a thorn in his side. Hell, not even any of his friends back home dared to speak to him in such a manner. But this time, she burst into raucous laughter, much to Cato’s annoyance. 

A naggy crybaby—that was actually a pretty apt term for her district partner, she mused, ignoring the murderous glare given in her direction.

Whatever rebuttal or action that the blond boy might have given was interrupted when they caught sight of smoke from beyond the treeline. 

“Alright, let’s get killing!” Marvel grinned, picking up his spear. “It’s about fucking time.” 

Funnily enough, Clove agreed with that sentiment as anticipation began seeping through her nerves. Tightening the straps of her vest and counting the knives, she made a move to get off the log when a hand clamped down on her wrist. 

“You stay and guard the camp,” Cato commanded, staring her down. 

She narrowed her eyes as indignation rose. “No fucking way. I want to hunt—”

“You just woke up! Someone has to stay and watch the area.”

“Why can’t Marvel do it, then?” 

“Because he woke up yesterday,” he said flatly. 

“You can’t stop me from going!” 

“Fine,” Cato relented, looking predictably displeased. “Three! You fucking guard this with your life!” 

The younger boy nodded and his hands clumsily picked up a spear resting from the side of a fallen log. 

After a quick scan around the area of the campsite, they ran towards the treeline, following the unpleasant odour of smoke and burnt wood and the hazy air the fire gave out. It wasn’t long before they found the source—a flaming pile of wood and vegetation. Clearly, this wasn’t a campfire and the absence of anyone nearby was blatantly obvious.

Nonetheless, uneasiness formed in the pit of her stomach as Clove took in their quiet surroundings. Even the birds and insects were eerily silent. 

By the time they reached the location of the second fire pit, the foreboding sensation grew and Clove furrowed her brows, whipping her head around her surroundings. 

“What the hell?” Marvel frowned, scuffing the toe of his boots against the ground. “What the fuck is going on?”

Clove stared at the flames.

_ Flames. Fire. Fire Bitch.  _

Instinct kicked in and she turned. “It’s a tra—”

The deafening boom that echoed around the Arena cut off her sentence. But it didn’t matter. What she wanted to say was pretty self-explanatory at this point.

One by one, what must be the mines exploded, causing her ears to ring and go numb for what seemed like hours. Beneath them, the ground trembled mightily and for a second, Clove was afraid that the trees would collapse on them. 

Death by fallen trees, she mused sardonically, cupping her ears as she crouched down, what a way to go. 

Together, they made their way back to the campsite but it was too late. 

It was exactly as she feared. 

Everything was in shambles. The mountain of crates was no more. In their place was debris—scraps and hunks of metal, remnants of packaged food and pieces of canvas that used to be survival packs. There went their medicine and food, she mourned angrily, kicking a broken jar of ointment aside.

Coughing amidst the smoke and dust, Clove tried to take stock of all that was left when Cato gave out a mighty roar and snapped the neck of Three with a quick and sharp twist of his hands. 

“FUCK!” He howled, running his hands through his hair in a haphazard fashion that made her wonder if he was trying to yank his blond locks out. “JUST FUCKING—FUCK!” 

Abruptly, he picked up a broken axe and hurled it at the walls of the Cornucopia before kicking and punching anything in sight. In quick succession, he threw the broken remains of their supplies at the shiny walls, roaring unintelligibly. 

This, she observed, standing aside, was one of his worst temper fits. 

Clove darted her eyes to One. For once, Marvel was silent as he warily watched the scene the blond was giving. In the days she’d known him, she didn’t think she’d seen him this solemn before.

Regardless, she had to do  _ something _ . 

Tensing, she slowly edged her way towards Cato, only to be jerked back by Marvel. 

“Are you crazy? You really want to go near him  _ now?” _ he asked incredulously, gesturing towards her district partner with his spear. “He’s lost it! He’s gonna kill you if you—” 

Shrugging off his arm, she glowered. “It’ll be fine. Now, leave off!” 

The Career shook his head grimly, turning silent.  _ Your life, your funeral _ , his gaze seemed to say. 

Ignoring his disapproving looks, Clove carefully made her way to Cato’s peripheral, doing her best not to startle him or do anything that will make her the new target of his rage.

“Cato,” she began softly but firmly. “Calm down. It’s not going to do us any—” 

The blond moved and within seconds, she found herself slammed against a broken crate. The jagged edges of the metal box digging into her back as Cato’s hands dug into her shoulders. As she stared into his face, all she could see was immense violence and madness in his blue eyes. 

She didn’t even think that Cato knew who he was holding. There was no recognition in them. All that was left was a ceaseless need for blood in those depths.

“It’s gone!” he shouted, slamming her once more against the crates like a rag doll. “Everything is fucking gone!” 

She winced from the impact, blinking her eyes when she saw stars. 

“I’m gonna kill them! I’m gonna rip them apart! Fucking kill them and make them pay. It’s all your fucking fault—”

“Stop it, Cato,” Clove hissed, slapping his chest and kicking his shin, wheezing when a hand reached up for her neck. “Snap out of it!” 

It was a weak attempt to shake him out of his daze and she knew it. Drastic measures were needed and she had to take them. Snaking her free hand over his arm, she pinched that one spot between his neck and shoulder that had always proven effective. 

Immediately, the blond crumpled to the ground in a heap. 

Catching her breath, she quickly reacted and bent over Cato’s unconscious form. Taking his arm, she yanked hard, arranging his slumped body to lie flat on his back. There. Now he wouldn’t choke. Though, she might just choke him to death herself for the stunt he’d just pulled.

Wincing from the ache in her back, she snapped at the hopeless boy from One. “Get some water!” 

“Now?”

“Yes!” she ordered. “Go fucking get it!” 

Marvel gave a curt nod, grabbing his spear before sprinting off. 

With that settled, she was about to make a move for one of the remaining medical kits she’d seen earlier when a hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. 

“Thought I told you not to do that again,” Cato grunted, pulling himself in an upright position. 

“Yeah well, when you’re acting like a little bitch, that threat of you punching me flew out of the window,” she hissed, shaking his hand off. “Now, fucking let go!” 

“Fuck you, Clove!” 

“Oh?” she snarled, giving a anger-driven slap across his face. 

With the sound echoing around the Arena, she was starting to wonder if the Capitol found her and Cato’s constant squabbling more entertaining than the slaughter of kids. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Cato barked, eyes trained on her furiously. 

“You and your fucking temper tantrums, that’s why,” she retorted, raising her voice to a level that was close to screaming. 

“Don’t you get it, Clove?” He shouted, pointing to the barren patch of land where their supplies had been. “We lost everything! We have nothing!” He began listing things off, “No food, no medicine, no extra weapons—absolutely nothing!” 

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” she spat. “How does that count as nothing?”

He paused, eyes strangely wild and tormented as he took a shaky step back. “Yeah. There’s that,” he conceded. “But how can I keep you alive when we don’t even have anything left?” 

Any retort or argument bubbling in her throat simmered down and Clove froze. Her jaw dropped as her gaze flew to his, meeting blue eyes for the barest of moments before she lowered her lashes. She couldn’t look at him. 

“You know that’s not possible. One of us is going to go and we both know it’s me,” she said softly, shoulders dropping. 

Cato’s eyes hardened, a shadow falling over his face as he clenched his jaw. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he murmured after a minute raced past. “I...You—” he swallowed, dragging a hand harshly over his face. “We were supposed to—Clovey, I’ve always wanted to tell you—”

_ Boom.  _

Clove flinched and turned.

_ Boom. _

The cannons sounded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, loves! I got off work a couple hours ago and I'm still blown away from the response this silly fic is receiving. Thank you for reading and as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated! <3 Hope you will enjoy this! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Any dialogue used from the movies or books do not belong to me but to their rightful owners.


	8. illuminate

She turned to Cato. “Who do you think they are?”

“With any luck, Twelve,” Cato grunted, turning away from her. “But seeing how fucking lucky they’ve been so far, probably Five or Eleven.”

“Who else is left?” 

“Twelve, the two from Eleven, Five and Marvel,” he listed off, brows furrowing. “And us,” he added as an afterthought. 

“Could it be Marvel?” she asked, spinning to him. “He should be back by now.”

“How long does it take to get water?” 

“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen?” Clove answered, scanning the treeline the Career had headed to earlier. “Forget it. We’ll see tonight.” 

Hopefully, it would be the pair from Twelve, but Cato was right. The tributes from that cursed district had been unusually and irritatingly lucky unlike their predecessors of Games past. Deep down, Clove knew they had to be alive and kicking somewhere in the woods, probably laughing at their misfortune of their supplies. It had to be Fire Bitch who’d set off the mines. Who else would be that gutsy in the middle of the day? 

Speaking of that, Twelve must have had an accomplice to set up the fire, drawing them away from camp. Clove doubted Lover Boy was fit enough for the task. Cato had given explicit details of the knife wound he’d laid into Bread Boy’s thigh. From the sound of it, he shouldn’t be able to walk, let alone manage to run off before they caught him at one of the fires.

No, it had to be someone else. 

Could it be Eleven? Or Five? Had the remaining tributes formed their own alliance against them? 

Clove grimaced, swiping the stray hairs from her face. There wasn’t any point worrying about that now. Twelve wouldn’t show her face so soon. Not after managing to destroy their supplies and with the added factor of her ally dying. 

Making her way towards the shambles of their camp, she stared at the blackened earth and the mounds of debris littered around the area. From where she was standing, she could hardly make out anything of importance. Nothing seemed salvageable.

In the end, both her and Cato managed to scavenge four tins of meat, a jar of some sort of medicine and two empty water canisters. Just looking at the size of the tins, she guessed they would last them for about a day, leaving them no choice but to hunt.

Fuck. This was pathetic.  _ They _ were pathetic. 

At this point, Clove highly doubted Enobaria’s ability to send them anything with the awful show they’ve been providing. It was a high probability that they no longer even had Sponsors. Perhaps, most of them had flocked to Twelve’s side by now. Luckily, it was fortunate they still had their weapons for they never left their persons. Without them, they would’ve been goners. 

Body stiff and aching, she persevered, gathering their piteous supplies and dragging them towards their tents. Night was setting in and they needed to make camp and collect water before it got too dark. Plus, after the long fucking day she had, with the key event of facing down an almost unreachable Cato, she just wanted to fall asleep. 

“I’ll go and get water,” she said, reaching for the flasks. “You start a fire.” 

“No.” Cato shook his head, appearing at her side. “I’ll go with you.” 

She would have argued, claimed that she would be fine, that she was more than capable of defending herself, that she wasn’t weak but a threat in her own right. But with recent events, she nodded and said nothing. 

Counting the knives laid in their respective pockets in her vest, she got to her feet and paused. “What about the camp? We have no other food except those in the tins.” 

“We have each other, isn’t that enough?”

She snorted, sticking out her tongue from Cato throwing her own words back at her. “Fuck off.” 

The blond grinned but with a low  _ pang _ , she noted it didn’t reach his eyes. 

When they returned to camp, bellies full of water, Clove sank onto a fallen log and watched as Cato revived the fire and began setting out small rations of meat from their tins. 

To think that it had come to this— _ rationing. _

So much for their best attempts to get Sponsors while they’ve still been in the Capitol. In the end, it had all come to naught. Without even trying, Twelve had gotten them all, leaving Cato and her to struggle. What happened to the both of them being tributes to watch out for? 

God, the kids back home in Two must be  _ laughing _ . Must have been since the first day. She furrowed her brows. Huh, she didn’t even know what day it was here. 

“How long has it been?” she questioned, breaking the silence as she began poking at the fire with a stick. 

“I lost count.” 

“Days? Weeks?” 

“Last I remember, a few days,” Cato muttered. “Maybe a week and a few days. But that was before the tracker jacker incident.” 

She didn’t respond. 

Weeks? How had time passed this fast? 

Taking in Cato’s reddened eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks, she could tell the Games were taking a toll on him. Coupled with the variety of new cuts he’d gained and the number of times he’d lost his mind, he was clearly not doing well. That being said, neither was she. 

Her impending death was never far from her mind and with each threat that came, Clove wondered if that would be the last memory she would have. That it would be the last time she drew air into her lungs. 

“Here.” Cato sat at her side, handing her a small cut of meat. 

With murmured thanks, she bit into it. At the mere taste of food, her stomach rumbled. With great difficulty, she forced herself to eat it slowly, to savour every bite. Who knew? It could be her last meal.

However, while the meat was edible, it didn’t have the same smoked flavour when Marvel prepared it. 

The thought of the Career left a bitter taste on her tongue. Though the older boy had been a constant annoyance from the start, the quiet around the camp left an unsettling atmosphere. It was odd not to hear his jabbering about something trivial and inconsequential. Without Marvel’s constant chatter and carefree demeanor, the reality of death was even more blatant. 

As if on cue, the familiar anthem sounded out as the Capitol emblem appeared in the sky.

Like she’d highly suspected, Marvel’s face appeared. To think that she wouldn’t hear any more of his stupid comments or jokes made her frown. It was strange. She didn’t like the boy. Most of the time, Clove couldn’t stand him and had toyed with the idea of plunging a knife in his mouth to shut him up. But somehow, she’d grown accustomed to him and the thought of him dying was so final and…unfair. 

She didn’t really he think he deserved to die here. He should be out there, back home in District One annoying someone to death and then dying because said person had enough of his shit. 

The next dead tribute to grace the sky made her roll her eyes. Of course, Twelve would choose this one to be her ally. God, the bitch from Twelve was so predictable with the older sister complex. Clove should have known, really. 

“She’s finally gone,” Cato said, staring at the image of the girl from Eleven.

Clove silently agreed with the relief bleeding from his tone. She and Cato may be many things but neither of them wanted to be the one to slay a twelve-year-old. 

The holograms finally faded and she let out a deep exhale. 

She was terrible. Because while Clove may feel a sense of regret that those two were gone, she was thankful and relieved. For in their deaths, she and Cato had gotten another day. Ultimately, it all boiled down to survival. She would never be sorry for choosing herself and Cato. 

Observing the blond’s sluggish movements, she shoved him with less force as per their custom. “Go sleep. I’ll take first watch.” 

The fact that her district partner didn’t even argue was a good enough sign that he was exhausted beyond belief. Arming herself with the spear that Three had left behind and the array of her knives on her vest, she slouched as Cato lay sprawled out on the ground. 

She was just thankful they at least had the sense to build their camp beside the Cornucopia, allowing her to lean against its cool metal walls. Furthermore, from the way they were positioned, they wouldn’t be able to be caught off guard should a threat appear. Tomorrow, they would have to move. Out here on the grassy plains, they were too exposed. But for now, she would let Cato get the rest he needed. 

Looking down, she found her best friend unconscious, dead to the world, huge form curled close to her side. Sighing, Clove gave into the temptation to card her fingers through his hair before brushing them away from his forehead. Eyes lingering on the steady movements of his chest, she turned away and stared into the flames licking up in the air. 

Only six tributes remained and they were the only Careers left. 

Her time was running out. 

Anyone would think being proficient at catching moving targets with her knives that Clove would have no problems hunting. Well, that theory was blown out of the water when she consecutively missed three different birds. And no, they hadn’t been flying. 

Clove gritted her teeth, stomping her feet as she headed to the foot of the tree to retrieve her knife. 

She just didn’t have the stealth required when it came to hunting. That and the patience. 

Now, Cato, on the other hand, had managed to grab two rabbits with his spear in the past three hours. It was a miracle considering the blond was the least patient person she knew. Anyway, she was still feeling bitter about her own losses to delight in his catches and that they wouldn’t go hungry tonight. 

Another hour passed and they headed back to their new campsite. Moving away from the Cornucopia and the grassy fields, they’ve taken shelter in the forest and were hidden behind particular large trees. Only setting up a single tent, they’ve also brought their meagre supplies before going hunting. That had been about hours ago. 

From the position of the sun, it was almost midday and she was starting to get hungry. Together, they stared at the two dead rabbits in Cato’s hand before looking at each other. Of course, with her craft being knives, she took the mantle of skinning the animals while Cato stoked the fire. 

Clove grimaced, taking the rabbits by their ears. How hard could it be to skin animals, anyway? 

This was how low they’ve sunk. Killing bunnies for food. Brilliant. 

In the end, she’d fared better than she thought. The fur was peeled off efficiently, inner parts scooped and dumped out while she broke off limbs and handed them to Cato. Except for the blood, it’d been fine. 

Roasting a paw over the fire (she did like her meat to be a bit more burnt) she took stock of their remaining food and decided they would be fine for at least two more days. If they survived that long.

It was only when she was stuffing her mouth that her mind brought up Cato’s unfinished tirade from the night before. And with nothing else to do but wait for the Games to progress, she kicked his ankle. 

Getting a dirty look in return, she arched a brow. “Yesterday, what did you want to say before the cannons went off?”

Cato froze, eyes wide and he swallowed. “You remember?”

“Yeah,” she shifted and threw the bone onto the ground. “So?” she prompted. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said flatly. Running his hands through his short tousled hair, he shook his head. “Forget it. It’s not important.” 

Usually, Clove wouldn’t continue pushing if Cato had given her such a response. She firmly believed in the practice of not demanding answers until they were freely offered. However, with the way he was acting, all melancholic and tormented, her interest was piqued. 

Frowning, she threw her recently discarded bone at him. “Come on, what is it? You said you’ve always wanted to tell me something. From the way that sounds, it must be important.” 

“Why so pushy?” he demanded, eyes flashing as he glared at her. “Just leave it.” 

“Why so secretive, then?” she retorted. “Since when do you have any secrets that even _I_ don’t know?” 

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret if you know about it, is it?” 

“You’re such a bitch sometimes, you ass.” 

“You’re one to talk, you nosey fuck!”

“Fuck you!” 

Cato growled, rising to his feet. “Would you just fucking leave? I don’t want to talk about it!” 

Leave? 

He wanted her to go?  Clove blinked, shrinking back slightly from Cato’s hostile glare. 

Alright. Fine. She wouldn’t stick around if she wasn’t wanted. It wasn’t as if that was a new occurrence. And if her eyes felt like they were stinging, it wasn’t because she was doing something as banal and useless like  _ crying _ . 

Without a word, she got off the ground, hooking up her vest and took off into the foliage. 

Whatever. She didn’t need him. She would be fine. Hadn’t she gone through a year without him? It wasn’t as if she depended on him. 

She’d only taken about five steps north when a hand grabbed her bicep and shoved her back against the tree. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Clove hissed, slamming her palms against his chest. “Let go! Get the fuck off!” 

He ignored her. “When I said leave off, I didn’t mean to go! What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“It sounded a lot like it!” she snapped and kicked his shin. “I won’t stick around if I’m not needed or wanted!” 

“Would you stop overreacting—”

“ _ Me?  _ I’m overreacting? What about you?” she growled and jammed her elbows into his gut, causing him to wheeze slightly and take a step back. “I’m not the one acting all broody and angry about some question I don’t want to answer! I’m not the one being a total jackass!” 

Cato snarled. “But I’m not the one pushing and pushing like some—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Instead, she ducked under his arm and continued traipsing off. Again, Clove found herself shoved back against a different tree as Cato used his body as a cage, a hand on either side of her face as he crowded around her.

“Stop walking off like a fucking child!” 

She stared him down. “I don’t see what else is there left to say.”

“Fuck you, Clove! You fucking mess with my head sometimes!” he roared, throwing a fist into the trunk on her right. 

The next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers. 

Her eyes flew wide open, body tensing as her mind tried to scramble and catch up with the reality of  _ this _ and  _ how _ and  _ why _ and  _ holy fuck— _

Cato’s lips were soft and chapped and rough as the moved against hers. He was urgent, demanding and yet, impossibly careful with her. His hands came up to rest against the side of her face, calloused fingers cradling her cheeks before he deepened the kiss. 

Never had she thought that  _ this _ would happen. That Cato, the boy she’d known for close to a decade, her best friend, was  _ kissing _ her.  _ Fuck. _ Her senses were on overload. In her ribcage, her heart was slamming frantically, blood rushing in her ears as his scent, his taste, his presence—everything that was Cato surrounded her. 

His tongue swept along her bottom lip before he pulled back slightly, thumb lingering on her chin. 

Her lashes fluttering open, Clove stopped at that. Since when had she closed her eyes?

“I _ — _ ” she croaked and shut her mouth. She tried again. “Cato, what—How… W-why? What was that for?” 

Really? Was that the best she could manage when her world was tilted on its axis? 

Oh sue her. Her brain had gone blank. That had been a good kiss—an electrifying, nerve-numbing and heartrending kiss. Coupled with the fact that it had been Cato who’d given it to her, well. She was at a loss for words. Nothing was coming to the front of her mind and even now, she was still struggling to process what they’ve just done. 

“It was that good, huh?” he smirked, half-lidded eyes soft and gleaming with arrogance and pride. 

She scowled and reached up to pinch him in the arm.  _ “No!” _ Stupid fucking ass. “You wish you were that good.” 

He snorted. “I know I am.” 

Pushing him, she huffed and glanced away for a moment before meeting his blue eyes once more. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

Was it? 

Suddenly, all the minute details she’d overlooked in the past came rushing back in force. 

The subtle jealousy he’d displayed back home from Pius, his immense dislike of Marvel, the wary protectiveness he’d shown throughout the Games, the way he’d tried to nurse her back to health and lastly, that look in his eyes she’d never been able to decipher. 

Well, it was safe to say she finally knew what that look meant. 

_ Fuck _ . How had she been so blind? Hell, even Marvel had known about Cato’s feelings long before she did and the Career had only known them for approximately a week. 

“How long have you felt this way?” 

He shrugged, ducking his head. “I don’t know. Years?” 

She gawked at him, jaw dropping. “Years? You’ve liked me for  _ years? _ ” 

“No,” he said curtly, angling his face away. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

If the earth hadn’t shifted under her feet before, it certainly did now. 

Clove’s mouth worked furiously. She yearned for her brain to catch up, to finally provide a suitable answer to whatever this was. But none came. Licking her lips, she furrowed her brows and swallowed hard. 

“Why?” she blurted out. 

“Why?” he echoed, raising his brows. “You’re my best friend, Clovey. You’ve been at my side all these years and I can’t imagine life without you. You’re…” he paused, shaking his head, a small smile tugging on his face. “You’re infuriating, awful and downright mean and abrasive and you are a fucking bitch—”

“You know,” she interrupted with a withering glare. “You’re not that great either, bastard.” 

“Would you just shut up and let me finish?”

“Fine.” 

“You’re all that,” he continued, slowly tracing her right cheekbone with his thumb. “But you’re so damn loyal and fierce and you make me laugh. You’re my rock, Clove. Fuck knows what I’ll do without you. That one year when we didn’t even talk? It was hell. I know I’ll always be grateful to my younger self for pushing you down on the tracks all those years ago.”

She inhaled sharply and bit her lip. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Cato’s face darkened, his hand dropping to his side. “Would it have made a difference?” 

Immediately, reality came crashing down and her shoulders slumped. 

How could she have forgotten that they were in the Hunger Games and only one of them could go home? She swallowed harshly and stared at her boot-encased feet. How was any of this fair? She’d gained Cato only to lose him in a matter of days. 

“I didn’t want to say anything with what’s going to happen but...I don’t think I could’ve gone on longer without letting you know,” Cato said quietly. 

“Oh.”

Suddenly, every minute and second that passed seemed so valuable that Clove wished she could have the ability to stop time. 

“Now you know.” 

She nodded, reaching up on her toes to sling her arms around his neck. And this time, she was the one to kiss him. On his part, Cato shuddered, fingertips digging into her back as he pulled her as close as he could.

Where their first kiss was hungry and demanding, this was softer, more intense, filled with longing and tinged with anguish. As their lips moved together, Clove tried to put every feeling and thought into it. If she couldn’t properly express how she felt, perhaps Cato would know from this. Every glide and caress were words of affirmation of how much he meant to her, of the wealth of feelings she had for him. 

Not for the first time in her life, she cursed herself for being closed-off—cold, hard to reach. Their time was running out and here she was, unable to even tell him she might return his feelings. Fuck, she was a mess. A fucking pathetic mess of a person.

Drawing her lips away, she rested her forehead against his, squeezing her eyes shut as she savoured every moment, of every precious second that raced passed beyond her reach. 

When they made their way back to camp, she curled into his side, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders as they sat in silence, watching the dancing flames of the fire. His thumb traced lazy patterns on her bicep and though the action was minimal, the comfort it gave was anything but and she began to relax. 

“You know,” she began, breaking the silence and glancing up at him. “Until now, I don’t know what’s the token you’ve brought.”

He cracked a grin and dug into his pockets. Withdrawing his hand, his fist was curled around something small and grey and circular. “Recognise this?” 

Clove choked, snatching the stone from his palm, fingers running over the badly carved ‘C’ and the worn edges of the small piece of granite. “You kept this?” 

“How could I not? It’s the first rock you threw at me. I wanted to pelt it at you as payback,” he replied, grinning. “But I didn’t. Probably forgot about it by then. But I’ve always wanted to ask why you carved the—” 

“The ‘C’?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, jerking his chin.

She smirked. “So that I would know who to use this rock on. ‘C’ for Cato. This one,” she picked the stone up with her thumb and index finger and shook it in his face, “and the other two you got hit with had sharper edges. I reserved those for you, you know. Your friends were luckier in this regard.” 

“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Cato snorted, looking up at the sky, though there was no denying the broad affectionate grin on his face. “Remind me again why I bother about you?” 

She ignored him, cradling the grey stone that barely filled the center of her palm. 

To think that at a point in her life, she and Cato hadn’t even known each other. God, she couldn’t even picture that. Nor can she entertain the idea that it was mere circumstances involving his brute nature and her vindictive self that had been factors causing them to collide, to cross paths, paving the road for them today. Just imagining scenarios of What Ifs where Cato hadn’t been at the track that day, or if he hadn’t even pushed her or she’d taken longer at the knife throwing station—

“What about you? What’s your token?”

“Don’t have one. Didn’t have the time to get one after I was reaped,” she said shortly, tearing her eyes away from Cato’s token to look at him. “But if I had a choice, it’ll be that blue hair ribbon you gave me when I was thirteen.”

Cato blinked, a wide smile stretching across his face. “You still have that?” 

She nodded a tad sheepishly, cheeks flushing a little. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you ever use it?”

“Do I really look like the sort to use bows in my hair?” she deadpanned.

“Touch é .” 

Clove gave him a grin but that quickly faded when the backs of her eyes started to sting again.  _ Fuck! _

“Cato,” she said shakily, voice on the verge of breaking. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die. I want us to get out of here alive. I want us to go home together.” 

The blond didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The look on his face was enough. 

She turned away to fix her eyes back on the fire. Despite the bright sunshine filtering through the condensed canopy of the coniferous trees, the flames brought shadows around their camp. So far, this was probably the bleakest moment for her in the Games. How could she be granted a gift she didn’t even know she wanted and treasure it before it was to be snatched right out of her grasp?

Gingerly, she leaned her head against his shoulder, slumping down as defeat swamped her, crushing her will and breaking her resolve. What was the point in continuing any longer? Hell, even if Twelve appeared in front of her right now, it wouldn’t cause her to stir. Killing them wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t allow her to have Cato. 

She was close to dozing off when the Arena vibrated, its audio system turning on as Templesmith’s voice echoed. 

_ “Attention tributes. Attention. The regulations requiring a single victor has been suspended. From now on, two victors may be crowned if both originate from the same district. This will be the only announcement.”  _

Cato’s reaction was instantaneous. 

He tugged her into his lap, burying his face into the crook of her neck, hands digging into her back.  _ “Clove.”  _ Her name sounded like a prayer coming from him lips and she revelled in it. 

On her part, she didn’t respond. She was too busy wrapping her mind around the idea that neither of them had to die, that they would both be crowned as Victors, that they were actually going home. 

When the miraculous news finally set in, she jolted. Inhaling sharply, she blinked hard and lifted quivering hands to his shoulder blades. Running her digits over the broad expanse of his back, she rubbed soothing circles into the locked muscles before carding a hand through his hair. In her arms, Cato’s form trembled violently and Clove pulled away slightly, reaching for his hand and interlocking their fingers. 

“We can go home,” she said firmly, newly revived resolve lighting her up, filling her heart with hope. “We’re going to get rid of the rest as quickly as possible and then we  _ are _ going home.” 

He nodded, shifting his jaw. “Do you think that was for Twelve or for us?” 

She scoffed, a determined set forming on her mouth as she pushed his hair away from his face. “Does it matter? Twelve isn’t going home. We are. We’ll break them, smoke them out of their hiding places, hunt them down till their cannons sounds if it comes to it. We’ll win.”

Cato smirked, eyes gleaming in anticipation, his hand squeezing hers as she returned his grin. They were going to win. Nothing could stop them. 

She eyed the four packs with their bold white numbers spelling out which belonged to their respective districts. 

Just a day after being granted the miraculous announcement of there being two winners, the Capitol had dropped another broadcast regarding the Feast. Till now, Clove still couldn’t figure out what was something they needed desperately. Both her and Cato were in fine health for the most part and they were okay living off hunted meat and stream water. 

Still, the Feast was more of an opportunity for them to strike at the other tributes who would finally come out of hiding. 

She’d spent the whole of yesterday evening convincing Cato to let her be the one to kill Fire Girl and he, Lover Boy. It hadn’t been easy. But with small smirks and huskily whispered promises uttered in his ear that left the blond flushing bright red and gaping, she’d won. Fire Bitch was  _ hers _ .

“What do you think is in the pack?” 

“Food?” Clove suggested, wrinkling her nose. “I’m getting sick of doing the skinning.” 

“Yet you eat more than me.” 

She scoffed, taking in the large empty field from their hidden point near some bushes. “That’s because you wouldn’t eat until I ate twice your portion.” 

“True.” Cato sniggered. “But still, you’re the size of a twig.” 

“Yeah, a twig that will make you regret speaking if you don’t shut up,” she hissed. “Now, will you be serious? It’s the Feast and if we’re lucky enough, we can get rid of everyone by today.” 

Cato sobered up, nodding. “Right. I’ll get Eleven and you get Twelve.” The last bit was said a tad more grudgingly as he shot her a dirty look. 

She grinned, running her tongue teasingly over her lower lip. “You know I always keep my promises,” she said, gaze trailing down from his face, over his chest and then to his groin before meeting his dark blue eyes. She smiled tauntingly. 

“Bitch,” he growled, scowling but there was no denying the hint of interest edging in those blue depths. 

Smirking, she shook her head before adjusting her posture behind the ferns. “Anyway, what about Five?” She furrowed her brows, picturing the sly-faced redhead. “She’s careful, cunning and if we don’t get her today, who knows how long it’ll take us to find her again.” 

“It’ll be fine, Clovey. We’ll gut every single one of them and we’ll be home in no time,” Cato murmured, glancing down at her. “But except for Lover Boy, we’ll have to find where Fire Bitch stashed him. No doubt it’s his medicine in their pack.” 

“We wouldn’t be having this problem if you’ve cut him up good and proper that day,” she grumbled and pursed her lips. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, Princess Bitchface,” the blond waved her off as he rolled his eyes. “I was stung that day. You can’t blame me. Besides, we’ve been waiting for hours here and no one has showed up. What if we took our pack and the other tributes might think they’re safe and come out?” 

Clove was about to agree with his approach when a flicker of movement caught her eye. 

Five appeared out from the Cornucopia, sprinting towards the marble counter, a hand snatching her pack as she dashed across the field. 

“Fuck! How long has she been there?” Cato hissed, springing to his feet as he picked up his sword. “I’ll go get her. Don’t do anything stupid, Clove.” 

She would have retorted something about how she wasn’t the stupid one when Fire Bitch sprang out from the opposite end of the field, running clumsily as she headed towards the marble counter. 

Her eyes lit up. 

Here. This was where it was all going to end. 

Predatorily, Clove jumped out of her spot, legs pumping towards the Cornucopia, hands already outfitted with her two favourite daggers. Reaching a good throwing distance, she stopped just as Twelve grabbed her pack from the counter, waiting for her to make a run for it. 

_ Not so fast! _ She grinned wickedly, changing her course while flicking the dagger in her hand before tossing it straight at Twelve when she was probably ten feet away. 

The brunette gasped, ducking just as the blade sailed past where her face should’ve been. 

Fuck! Who would’ve thought the bitch would have such good reflexes? 

Before she could throw another, Twelve yanked an arrow from the quiver and took aim with the bow she hadn’t realise the girl was armed with. Clove could only watch in dismay as the arrow took flight, its trajectory, her heart. 

With a gasp, she hastily angled her body, doing her best to avoid the weapon, but it wasn’t enough. 

The sharp edge of the arrow pierced her flesh and Clove bit back the scream bubbling from her throat. 

_ The fucking score of Eleven! _

She gritted her teeth. Clutching the wound on her left bicep, she yanked the arrow out and blocked the pain away. She would deal with that later. Right now, she had to focus. Fire Bitch had gotten away twice. Once at the Bloodbath, the second at the fucking tree with the tracker jackers. 

Not this time. 

Snarling, she ignored the twinge in her arm and pitched the second blade right at Twelve before the girl could equip herself with another arrow.

This time, the blade did hit its target. The brunette shrieked when she tried to duck, just as the weapon grazed her forehead, blood finally welling up from the wound.

To Clove’s immense satisfaction, a steady trickle of crimson liquid rolled down that white porcelain skin. If it was sick that that was the only thing spurring her on, Clove didn’t care. She’d waited  _ days _ to see that. She wanted more. Now.

Fire Bitch wasted precious seconds pulling out another arrow and attempting to take aim when Clove picked up speed and lunged straight at her, hands pushing her down. Together, they crashed to the ground, kicking and spitting and throwing punches wherever they saw fit. 

Despite the girl being taller and maybe older than her (Clove didn’t know nor did she care) Twelve was easily pinned down due to her lack of muscle mass and scrawny frame. Really, she grinned, giving a particularly hard stomp of her foot against Twelve’s wrist, she ought to thank Cato for giving her this much needed experience of subduing bigger targets than her. It really had come in handy. 

With her weight centering on Fire Bitch’s torso and abdomen, a foot clamped on her other hand, Clove smirked. Whipping out another large dagger from her vest, she laid it across that milk-white throat and tilted her head. 

“Where’s your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?” 

“He’s out there now. Hunting Cato,” the girl gasped, lunging up but giving up when she felt the bite of cold metal. “Peeta!” she screamed, legs flailing violently. 

Effectively, Clove jabbed her in the throat, cutting off all further sound and paused. Was Lover Boy really well enough to be running about and facing down Cato? Her Cato who’d been wanting to tear at his throat for days? Her Cato who was not only trained but superior and better in every way? 

“Liar,” she mocked, grinning. “He’s nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You’ve probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What’s in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he’ll never get it.” 

Clove sincerely hoped the Capitol was watching. Especially Twelve’s Mentor. This had been coming for ages. Languorously, she slipped open the lightweight jacket, revealing the various knives in her possession. Her eyes skimmed over the gleaming metal, finally landing on the small delicate blade she’d saved for Twelve and her perfect cheekbones. 

“I promised Cato if he let me have you, I’d give the audience a good show,” she said maliciously, sliding that curved blade out from its pocket. 

Well, truthfully, that was a lie. She’d promised other things and none of them had involved the Capitol. Rather, she didn’t think their audience would want to know what she’d promised the blond.

Fire Bitch was still struggling, although it was all in vain. By now, the blood flow on her forehead was slowing, the crimson life force turning darker as it congealed. But that didn’t matter. More of it were to flow if Clove had her way. Which, she did. 

“Forget it, District Twelve. We’re going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally. What was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we’ll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?” She asked mockingly, trailing the small blade over the edge of Twelve’s jaw. “Now, where to start?”

Fire Girl snarled, the very mention of the little girl provoking her into spitting.

Clove growled, wiping off the glob of spit and blood from her cheek and clenched her teeth. “All right then. Let’s get started.”

Knife poised and ready to let blood flow, she was about to press its cold cruel edge when a hand grabbed the back of her jacket, yanking her away. 

The sight of Eleven made her gasp and Clove trembled. She didn’t think she’d remembered the boy to be this huge. She swallowed, dropping the two blades in favour of scrambling back on all fours. 

“What’d you do to that little girl? You kill her?” 

What? He thought she killed the twelve-year-old? 

“No! No, It wasn’t me!” she said.  _ It was Marvel!  _ She meant to say but those three words were stuck in her throat. Terror was clawing up her chest and still, Clove scooted back, trying her best to put some distance between the boy.

“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Eleven looked utterly deranged, fury and anguish lacing his features. “You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?”

Any protest or arguments she wanted to say faded when she caught sight of the rock in the boy’s hand.

It was funny, she thought dumbly, staring at the grey stone. Just two days ago, she and Cato had been reminiscing about the time she’d thrown rocks at the blond when they were kids. 

“Cato!” she started to scream. “Cato!” 

She didn’t hear a response, too focused on the sight of Eleven moving towards her, rock clutched tightly in hand.

With a sharp jerk, Eleven pulled her up by the scruff of her jacket. He roared, slamming her against the wall of the Cornucopia and she gagged, coughing as she blinked hard from the sudden glare of the sun and the impact of her head against the metal. 

In what seemed like slow motion, the rock began to make its descent towards her head. 

Fuck. She was going to die.

Clove squeezed her eyes shut, readying herself for the pain and for death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally have nothing to say about this chapter. i still have no idea wtf i was writing. really do hope it doesn't come off as ooc :") regardless, enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Any dialogue used from the movies or books do not belong to me but to their rightful owners.
> 
> <strike>also like i might have a companion piece for this au that shows the relationship/friendship dynamics between clato from 6 different characters. it's gonna be like 6 chapters only and lbr i probably am drafting it out as you're reading this. but it'll be cool if you lmk if you might read it!</strike>


	9. flicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning of described violence in this chapter.
> 
> There is not going to be a sequel despite this turning into a series. See end notes for more info!

She’d never thought that the cause of her death would be being bashed in the head with a rock. Clove had always figured if she were to die in the Games, she’d go down in a blaze of glory, in the midst of a gruesome attack or taking another tribute down before inhaling her last.

But here it was. A fucking rock that was the size of her hand. How pathetic was that? 

After all the training she did as a kid, a stone was going to do her in. It was even more ironic that she hailed from the masonry district. The universe was certainly having a laugh at her expense.

Perhaps she deserved it for how terrible a person she was. Clove wouldn’t call herself nice. She was mean, twisted, a bitch, generally awful to be around, horribly uncaring and self-serving. Not to mention the cruel streak that surfaced when she was provoked.

Fuck knows why Cato even stuck around all these years. 

The image of the blond came to mind and she trembled as regret left its bitter taste on her tongue. Fuck, she hadn’t even the chance to bid him goodbye, to tell him how she really felt, to see him one last time. Mournfully, she squeezed her eyes tighter, hoping that when Death came to haul her away in his skeletal grip, it would be fast and painless. 

“CLOVE!” 

Her eyes snapped wide open. Had she imagined that? 

“CLOVE!” 

Hope began to bloom in her heart when Cato’s voice sounded once more. But yet, the blond sounded miles away. Her shoulders fell. He couldn’t help her, not with how far away he was.

“CLOVE, DOWN LEFT!” 

What? Duck? Now?

With the small allowance given around the space of her neck from Eleven’s grip, she did, just as what seemed like blood sprayed over her, with some of the hot viscous liquid splattering into her eyes. 

A shrill scream tore from her throat when she was released and dropped to the ground, the rock landing on her shin. Fuck! That was going to bruise. Vision impaired with blood, she blearily swiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her jacket before absorbing the scene in front of her. 

Eleven was on the ground, grunting and groaning as he tried to yank out the spear embedded in his shoulder. The weapon had gone right through muscle and bone, its sharp pointed edge jutting out of his body near his clavicle. 

Clove shuddered, taking deep gulping breaths as she tried to steady her frayed nerves, to gain control over herself. 

She was fine. She was alive. 

An inhuman roar gained her attention, drawing her eyes to the hulking form of her district partner. The blond had a monstrous look on his face as he approached them, sword slung over his back. Cato didn’t spare her a second glance when he walked passed her. Instead, he headed straight to Eleven with wide predatory steps. 

“You tried to kill her with a rock?” he demanded, blue eyes wild and crazed. “A FUCKING ROCK?!”

The boy from Eleven said nothing and got to his feet, balance skewed due to the spear lanced through his form. Somehow, he’d managed to break the ends off, leaving a small portion of the weapon wedged in his body.

As the two faced off, Clove darted her eyes from one to another. While Eleven seemed broader in stature, Cato was fit and uninjured—it would be an even match. Taking in the animalistic rage on her district partner’s angular features, Clove can’t ever recall seeing him in such a state.

The blond lunged first.

In a mass of flailing limbs, grunts, and groans, she watched in utter shock as Cato effectively pinned the boy down in less than a minute. When he pulled away, Eleven’s face was so bloodied and bruised she couldn’t even make out his facial features. If that wasn’t enough, Cato stumbled back—sporting some bruises along his jaw and a bloodied lip—before grabbing his sword. 

Eleven let out a gurgle of pain when the weapon was plunged through his thigh and Clove flinched at the sound of crushed bone and cleaved flesh. 

“A rock, right?” Cato shouted, voice booming. He reached for the rock at her feet. “You wanted to bash her head in with this?”

He wouldn’t, she eyed him warily, fingers fisting into the grass. He wasn’t going to do what she was thinking, would he?

“Let’s see how it’ll feel like, shall we?” he thundered, throwing the fist-sized stone into the air and catching it. The blond repeated the action once, and then twice more before diving in for the kill. 

It was frantic. Violent. Animalistic. 

Cato was almost a blur as he smashed the rock over and over into his victim’s skull. He didn’t stop when Eleven was dead or when his cannon went off. Rather, the sound seemed to spur him further on, driving him into a frenzied state that spoke of sheer insanity and brutality. 

When it was all over, Cato stepped back to admire his handiwork and she shakily moved to his side, staring down at the gory remains of what had been a boy. Where Eleven’s head used to be, it was now nothing but a pulp of grey matter, blood and shards of bone. 

“Cato,” she whispered, hesitantly tugging at his elbow. “What—”

He turned and she blinked, almost taking a step back. Face spattered with the mix of blood and brain matter, hair matted with more blood and sweat, Cato looked like a pagan warrior of eons pass, coming back directly from battle. The wildness in his eyes eased but the fury remained. However, at the sight of her, the flames of his anger increased. 

“YOU!” He roared, rounding towards her. “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” 

She wasn’t given a chance to reply when blood-slicked hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her frantically. 

“What the fuck happened to go right for the kill and not playing with your victims? Or about not bragging and dragging out kills unnecessarily?!” He screamed, voice going hoarse. “Well?” he prompted when she didn’t respond. “What the fuck about not being stupid and impulsive, huh?! You’re a fucking liar!” 

Her teeth rattled and she dug her fingernails into his arms, trying to free herself. “Cato!” 

“You almost died, Clove!”

“Let go of me!” 

“What if I wasn’t near enough? It would be you with your skull bashed in!” He pointed to the dead form of Eleven, body trembling uncontrollably. 

“CATO STOP!” 

He let her go. 

“You almost left me!”

She stopped, mouth falling open as she gaped stupidly at him. Those four words he’d howled at her revealed a depth of emotions that clung to her heart, invoking a sense of guilt so profound she recoiled. 

“But I didn’t,” she said, voice strong as she willed herself not to fall apart now, not when she’s sure the cameras are definitely on them. She grasped at the arrow wound on her arm and tilted her chin. “I’m still here. I’m not dead.” 

Cato scoffed, the madness and fury fading now that the threat posed had been eliminated, though there was no mistaking the involuntary shuddering of his form as he gazed at her. His blue eyes were conflicted and the lines on his face were tortured and pain-ridden. 

“You would have been if I wasn’t near enough.” He shot her one last look she can’t quite understand before stomping off towards the direction of their camp, weapons in hand along with their bag and Eleven’s.

Clove swallowed. After snatching the knives she’d dropped from her third failed attempt to kill Twelve, she followed after him hesitantly, mind racing from the events that transpired not an hour ago.

On auto-pilot, she kindled the fire, careful not to burn their remaining meat while watching Cato clean himself from the blood and gore that he was practically soaked in. He sat at the banks of the lake their camp was positioned close to, scrubbing his hands that were caked in dried blood and guts. Wordlessly, she handed him a spare rag which he used to wipe his face before she prompted him to bend over.

Rigidly, he bowed his back, letting her fingers comb through his hair, ridding the golden strands from its rust-coloured paste. When her fingers accidentally grazed the nape of his neck, Cato shuddered. Turning, he gave her an impassive once over before dunking his head in the water and stalked off. 

Chewing on her lower lip, she stared after his tense retreating figure.

Clove knew she was in the wrong. She was fully aware the cause of this large gap that stood between them was her ill-thought actions. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to bridge it. Yes, they have had their fights before with one even lasting a full year, but this, she knew was different. There was no anger or fury channeling this argument, it was filled with deeper and heavier emotions that were harder to untangle and recover from. 

The sight of a white parachute floating down broke her out of thoughts and Clove reached for it, ignoring the wince in her arm. Breaking the clasp of the metal container, she found a jar of some sort of ointment, two loaves of bread and some broth. 

Fuck, she furrowed her brows. When was the last time she had broth? 

Unpacking the food, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Clove picked it up and rolled her eyes.

_ Keep on with the show. _

She clenched her jaw and crumpled up the note. She didn’t know if their Mentor was referring to Cato’s display of violence or their love life being unveiled for millions of people to see. Knowing the Capitol and their penchant for anything dramatic, it was probably the latter. 

A hand grabbing her uninjured arm snatched her attention and she is unable to resist Cato’s insistent tugging grip as he led her to sit near the fire. In total silence, she watched as he yanked her jacket off and began to treat the crusted laceration on her bicep. 

The juxtaposition of how Cato was handling her so gently and delicately with the same hands he’d shockingly crushed a man’s skull floored her. The disparity of his earlier violence and the tenderness her district partner adopted as he treated her was the breaking point.

“I’m sorry,” Clove finally said, breaking the silence, the words thick and unfamiliar on her tongue. 

Cato didn’t respond. He merely washed the wound and applied a generous amount of the ointment Enobaria had sent before wrapping her arm with scraps of clean fabric in lieu of bandages. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, lashes lowering. “I didn’t mean for...I never thought I would—” her voice broke and she dug her nails into her palms. 

Dead. 

She would have been dead by now, body carted away by the Capitol transporter if Cato hadn’t intervened with his spear. The gravity of that fact weighed heavily on her shoulders and she inhaled sharply, knees going weak.

“I can’t win the Games without you.” Cato sounded tired and pained as he spoke. “I can’t go home without you.” 

She exhaled slowly, meeting his tormented blue eyes that were swimming with things she didn’t want him to say. If he voiced them out, breathed life to her thoughts, drew out the path she’d been seconds away from walking on before he altered the road, Clove was sure to lose it. 

The idea was too terrifying to comprehend. 

“I promise I won’t do anything like that again.” 

Cato scowled, drawing back. “Like you promised not to be impulsive and stupid and rushing headfirst into danger? Is Fire Bitch worth the lost of your life?” he demanded, voice raising.

She didn’t take the bait. She can’t. Not when she had nothing to defend herself with. 

“How did you manage to get to me so fast?” she questioned, sidestepping the trap. 

“Five was too quick,” he said flatly. “And I realised that if I were to chase after her, you would be left alone with both Twelve and Eleven. So I headed back, just in time to see what I feared would happen.” 

“Oh.” 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

She glanced up and shrugged helplessly. “It was Marvel’s fault.” 

It was a joke. Or at least a weak attempt at a one on her part, but Cato’s scowl only deepened. 

“I was taunting Fire Bitch about her ally’s death and Eleven overhead. Thought that I killed her instead of Marvel and then I saw the rock in his hand and...” she trailed off, not wanting to continue. 

Cato visibly flinched and he raised a hand to push her hair away from her face, tucking the dark lock behind her ear. His gaze trailed over her, over the planes and angles of her face, of every freckle along her nose and cheeks, committing her to memory as though he was afraid of never seeing her again. 

Her gut fell and she bit her bottom lip till salt and iron flooded her mouth. 

“Fuck you, Clove,” Cato muttered. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

Noting the absence of anger and abrasiveness in his words, Clove succumbed to his arms banding around her small form and curled into his embrace. 

“You wish,” she mumbled into his chest, closing her eyes, revelling in the safety Cato provided.

The sound of a cannon being fired stirred her from slumber. Clove jerked and squinted up at the sky, stumbling her way to the fire where Cato was. Words cannot describe the relief that washed over her when she found him cleaning his spear. 

“It’s Five,” he said, putting aside the weapon and taking the sword on his right. “It has to be. She isn’t a killer. Fire Bitch would’ve done her in to save her own skin.” 

“It’s just us and Twelve, then—the final four,” she breathed out, helping herself to some leftover chunks of bread. 

“Wonder how they’re doing,” Cato muttered under his breath, giving a particular harsh swipe over the sharp tip of his spear. “Sponsors would be flocking to them now that Bread Boy is as good as new.” 

She gritted her teeth. 

Clove knew Cato wasn’t putting the blame at her feet, but she felt it all the same. If only she hadn’t taunted Twelve and simply stuck her blade through the brunette’s throat, both she and Cato would have been home by now. The blond would have been able to gut Five, and with Fire Bitch dead, she would be able to take on Eleven, leaving Lover Boy to starve and die from his injuries. But no, she’d just had to be vindictive and plain fucking dumb. 

“We will go home.” She squeezed his shoulder, stretching her legs out on the grass. “We’ll kill them and we’ll go home as Victors together.” 

She may have been weak during the Feast, allowing hatred and petty vengeance to cloud her judgement, to dictate her actions, but not anymore. Now that she’d had a close brush with death, had victory within her grasp, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

“You gonna be some impulsive bitch again?” 

Clove scowled and jammed her elbow into his gut. “I said I was sorry!” 

“Now you know how it feels when you keep on throwing our fight from last year into my face. How the tables have turned,” he jeered, throwing her a smirk. 

“Shut up, asshole,” she muttered, avoiding his arm but not putting up much of a fight when he inevitably pulled her closer. 

“They’re gonna give us two houses when we win,” Cato began after a moment as he fingered the edge of his sword. “Do you really need yours?”

She scrunched up her nose. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” 

“It’s not like things were  _ that _ different between us before the Games,” he countered, brows furrowing.

Clove fought the grin that threatened to make its appearance on her face. “You know it was,” she said, angling her body to face him, enjoying the red tint on his cheeks. “We were just friends. Besides, why do we need to share a house for? It’s not like you of all people need a house, let alone even a bed for fucking—” 

“Would you just  _ fuck off?” _

She sniggered as his face reddened. 

“It’s true,” she said, cocking her head. “I did tell you the girls back home talked.” 

“It’s not like that,” Cato snapped, shooting her an angry glare. “You  _ know _ it’s not like that with you. Never you.”

Laughter fading, she nudged him in the arm with her shoulder. “I know.” Pressing her lips together, Clove shifted closer. “I know,” she repeated. 

He grimaced, mouth twisting into a sullen line. “So? You didn’t give me an answer.” 

Cradling his face, she leant in, brushing her mouth lightly,  _ teasingly _ against his. Feeling his chest rumble where he was pressed close to her, her hands slid up his chest as she deepened the kiss and swiped her tongue over his bottom lip, giving sharp nips on the flesh with her teeth before pulling away. With the pad of her thumb, she rubbed the reddened swollen lip and grinned. 

“Is that good enough?”

Half-lidded blue eyes stared down at her as the fingers on her waist tightened. “Yeah…”

Smugly, she tilted her head, threading a hand through his hair, pushing the short strands away from his forehead. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck me, instead of going through all that talk about moving in and sharing a house and stuff.” 

“You’re romantic as crap, Clovey.” 

“I know.” She batted her eyes obnoxiously and Cato snorted. 

Arms banded around her, he slumped down to the ground, back hitting the grass with a muffled  _ thump _ as he pulled her to his side. 

“As long as you don’t expect me to cook,” he said ruefully. “Surviving the Games so you could get food poisoning from my appalling culinary skills isn’t exactly high on my priority list.” 

She shuddered, recalling the one and only time she’d eaten the chicken noodle soup he’d prepared from scratch. Clove didn’t think her stomach could bear throwing up for five consecutive days again. 

“What’s on this priority list? Wood carving?”

“Probably.”

Till now, Clove still couldn’t understand how Cato could be so talented with a knife and his bare hands with blocks of wood and yet, be so horrible at knife throwing. She’d seen him fashion replicas of animals, loved watching him work with her favoured weapons, studied his movements keenly, appreciating every flick of his wrist and firm guiding fingers. However, when it came to hurling a blade, it was a disaster. 

It was a quandary.

“You should have been born in District Seven,” she teased. “There’s nothing there but trees.”

“No,” he said. “You’re in Two."

Cheeks flushing with pleasure at his candid admission, she allowed a tiny smile to tug on her mouth. God, he was such a fucking sap. She loved it.

Together, they lay on the ground, watching the ambiguously-shaped clouds drift in the sky.

She missed moments like this. Moments where she and Cato could just… _ be. _ She hated how the Capitol portrayed them as cold-hearted freaks who only knew how to hurt and torture and kill. They were people too. Albeit more messed up than usual, but they still had emotions and thoughts. 

Feeling Cato’s steady breath puffing against the crown of her head, she pressed closer to him, heart slowing to sync with his. Who knew things would’ve turned out this way? Who would have guessed that she and Cato would be bound together by ties other than friendship? Which brought up the question: How and when things had changed between them? What had been the defining factor? Most importantly, how could she not have known? She did pride herself in being able to read him like a book. 

Fidgeting, Clove stole a quick glance in his direction. Perhaps if she stared hard enough, she could be granted access to his mind and subsequently, his thoughts. 

Eyes sliding up, she studied his side profile, taking in the shadows falling over the sharp planes of his face, the steep slope of his nose that had been broken more than once, the smudges of dirt and blood smeared on his temple. Pressing her lips together, she fidgeted. She’d done this before—the staring. But right here, in the Arena of the Games, it felt different.  _ They _ felt different. 

“I can feel you staring. What is it?”

She hesitated, stilling.

“Spit it out, Clovey.”

“When did you realise you…  _ you know _ …” she blurted out, fixing her gaze resolutely against the sky. 

“What?”

“When did you know you…cared about me?”

Cato arched a brow. “I always did.”

“Stop it, you ass,” she huffed, resisting the urge to pinch him for being difficult. “I know you fully get what I’m referring to.” 

The fingers playing with the ends of her hair brushed against the side of her head. “Deep down, I think I’ve always known for a while,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t until last year that I knew for sure. You were facing off with those girls in the rankings and you broke their noses and made them bleed like crazy and…”

“And?”

“I think one of the girls tried to taunt you or something like that and you snapped—went after her until you had to be pulled away screaming and kicking—"

“You make me sound like a raging psychopath,” she deadpanned.

“But you are one.” 

She slapped him in the stomach. “What does that say about you being attracted to one, then?”

“Twisted.” He smirked, body rolling to hover over hers. “We  _ are _ fucking twisted.” 

Clove did have to agree with that point.

“But it was that one smirk of yours that did me in. Made me wanna grab you—blood and all—and pin you down—“ he cut himself off and groaned. “You are not making me say this when there are cameras.”

“But you were getting to the good part,” she said slyly, interest piquing as she curled her hands into the cotton of his shirt, tugging him closer. “Come on, I wanna hear it. What did you want to do to me?"

He leaned down, eyes darkening. “Fuck you raw,” he said hoarsely. “Fucked you hard until you forgot everything except my name, till you couldn’t move a muscle, till you acknowledge being mine and nothing else.”

Oh.  _ Oh fuck _ .

Whatever she was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t  _ that. _

Clove inhaled sharply, arousal coiling low in her belly.

Involuntarily, she clenched her thighs together, biting her lip at the pure need and lust reflected in those baby blues. She was pretty sure her eyes mirrored his. Those uttered words sent her mind spinning,  _ wanting _ . Fuck, she wanted all of that, wanted it with a burning passion that was further fuelled by his hand creeping up her side. 

Tilting her head upwards, her lips brushed against the underside of his jaw, leaving featherlight kisses against his tanned skin. Her hands bunched his jacket, tugging him closer than before, legs parting, welcoming the large male above. 

_ “Clove.” _

She loved the neediness in his voice, of how her name sounded so harsh and guttural coming from his lips. 

Cato growled and dug his fingers into her hair, adjusting her face before his mouth found hers once more. Their tongues clashed and unlike the earlier kisses they’ve exchanged, this was punishing,  _ raw _ . The blond shifted, aligning their hips and Clove shuddered at the feel of him, hard and ready against her thigh through their clothes. Eagerly, she slid against him, hands encircling his neck, nails digging into the nape of his neck as she fought to wrestle for dominance of this kiss. 

Never one to be submissive, Cato gave as good as could. Giving one last sweep of his mouth against hers, he trailed his lips down her jaw, giving alternating small kisses and bites before fixating on a certain spot and sucking hard. 

The prickliness of the growing stubble along his jaw when he mouthed at her neck made her shiver and Clove released a quiet sigh. A sigh that turned into a hiss when he nipped at her flesh and laved the sting away with broad flat strokes of his tongue. 

“Bastard,” she mumbled. Forcing back a moan, she dropped her head back against the ground, exposing more of her neck to give him more room to work on. 

The answering smirk she felt against her throat made her fist his hair and yank forcefully. Fucking smug asshole. 

However, when his hand began to push her shirt up to cup the swell of her breast, the haze in her mind cleared a little and Clove made a slight pushing movement on his chest.

“Wait,” she said, gasping when he gave a particular violent suck at the hollow of her throat. Her back arched and she blinked. “Cato, not here. The cameras.”

He didn’t reply, didn’t move, really. Instead, he paused and the only sounds that could be heard were his harsh breathing against her neck and her quiet pants. 

“Another time, then,” he finally said when he drew back, dark eyes full of promise. 

She didn’t reply, couldn’t when her heart was racing, beating erratically in her ribcage, blood rushing through her veins and her body shaking from unsuppressed need. But she nodded, thumb reaching up to wipe off the smudges of dirt on his forehead. 

The blond gazed down at her with that soft look in his eyes and Clove didn’t dare to blink, lest it be gone. Slowly, her hand lowered to cradle the left side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek. The idea of Cato looking at her in that manner for the foreseeable future—for eternity sent her reeling. 

At that thought, the emotions that welled up in her heart, clogging her throat, made her shift and Clove did what she did best when she couldn’t deal or express her feelings, she avoided.

“You’re heavy,” she complained, planting her hands on his chest to shove him away. “Get off.” 

Snorting, he did and ran his hand through his hair. 

Even though she had been the one to break the intimate atmosphere, Clove found herself longing for it as soon as it had vanished. Unable to leave things as they were, she righted her rumpled clothing and retied her hair, eyes never leaving Cato’s form. 

“Would you ever have told me?” she murmured, tilting her head and resisting the urge to touch the tender parts of her neck he’d worried his teeth with.

This question had been on the back burner for awhile and Clove never knew when it was the best time to bring it up. But now seemed as good a time as any. They were going home together. Nothing could stop them. 

The blond didn’t have to ask what she meant. He shrugged, nodding slowly. “After winning the Games, yes. That had been the plan.”

“Well, at least you don’t need to anymore, considering we’re both here,” she commented, offering a small smile, hoping her tone was light like she meant it to be. 

Cato didn’t respond. 

With how long they’ve been sitting and talking, she knew it wasn’t that late. Time hadn’t passed that quickly for the sky to be this dark and for the weather to be freezing.

Cato tensed, jaw clenching as he met her gaze.

It was the finale.

Silently, he handed her the smaller fitted armour from their pack. The Feast had given them two sets of body armour and they’d figured it was meant to protect them from whatever the Gamemakers had cooked up for the finale. 

They’ve tested them. Pierced their weapons into the lightweight material and found that nothing could penetrate it. Although it left their limbs exposed, it did protect their vital organs. Which made Clove wonder what kind of sick concoctions were going to be shoved in their faces in order for them to go home. 

The howls and growls echoing in the forest answered her unspoken question. 

“The Cornucopia,” she said, arming herself with her vest and counting off her knives.

“Twelve could be headed there too.” 

She shrugged, tightening the straps of the armour. “We’re nearer. We’ll be there first.” 

Cato gave a curt nod as he picked up his sword. 

She studied him, noting the creases on his forehead and the lines on his face. Without hesitating, she moved and slid a hand up his back and looked up at him. In that few seconds of their eyes locking, she tried to convey what she couldn’t say, that she daren’t say, her fears, her thoughts of what could go wrong and most importantly, what they stood to gain.

“Together,” she whispered, “Together or nothing.”

“Together or nothing,” he echoed, gunmetal blue eyes trained on hers. 

Her lashes fluttered close as he ducked his head down and rested his forehead against hers. His fingers gripped her arms and when she opened her eyes, he pressed his mouth softly against hers. It was lingering, heartfelt and yet bittersweet.

Clove’s heart ached. 

The sensation of being watched sent goosebumps up her spine and hastily, she drew away, inwardly cursing herself for being distracted and casting narrowed eyes of their darkened surroundings. More notedly, it was silent. Too silent. Where the birds and insects had chirped and buzzed, it was now deathly quiet. 

Blood racing through her veins, she shifted, tensing, body poised to fight and run.

“Fuck!” 

It all happened too fast for her mind to comprehend. 

A beast lunged out from the shadows of the trees and Clove could only watch in frozen horror as the black Capitol mutt gripped its powerful jaws around Cato’s leg and bit. 

The shout of agony from the blond snapped the haze her mind was in. 

Attack and wound. Kill and defend. Together or nothing. 

She rushed for the mutt, knives out and stabbed the beast in its gut. Once, twice, thrice, she lost count, crimson liquid gushing and spraying. She thought she might be stuck there, pinned by the sight of a human face on the beast with terribly familiar eyes until Cato stumbled to his feet and grabbed her arm. 

“Clove, move!” he rasped urgently, fingers almost yanking her arm out of her socket. 

They ran, lungs burning and legs pumping as they stumbled through the forest. Distantly, they could hear the sounds the mutts making getting progressively louder as they gave chase.

“We’re almost there!” she panted, urging Cato to pick up speed.

In response, he grunted, wincing each time he put his weight on his injured leg. 

By some miracle, they managed to reach the Cornucopia without further impediment. Dashing across the field, she hoisted herself up the walls and immediately grabbed Cato’s arm. Groaning, he hauled himself up and landed on his back with a loud thump. 

She didn’t wait. Clove tugged on her trousers, ripping off a long strip and tied a tourniquet around his leg. Only then did she take a look at the wound on his calf. 

It was a mess. His flesh was punctured by great-teeth marks, skin in bloody ribbons, blood gushing out at an alarming rate and truly, it really was a blessing that he’d managed to run all the way here. Although the blond was now clearly suffering for every breath he took was a tortured one.

“Clove,” he panted, chest heaving as he pulled himself up. “How bad is it?”

“It’s fine,” she lied, removing her jacket and wrapping it around his limb and tying it into a knot. “We’re safe for now. You’re fine.” 

Throwing a reassuring smile his way, she took the small window of time to rest, to catch her breath and to get ready for the inevitable showdown. 

They didn’t have to wait long. 

She could hear Twelve’s shrieks and hurried pants as they drew closer to the Cornucopia. Lover Boy was breathing so heavily she could catch his shuddered grunts from all across the field. Smirking, Clove rose to her feet and tossed her hair over her shoulders. Cato grinned predatorily, exchanging a proud twist on his mouth as he too, heaved himself up slowly. 

They didn’t have to say anything. Not when Twelve appeared, head bobbing up as she scaled the walls. Not when she helped Lover Boy up and they dropped to their knees, forms wracking as they tried to inhale as much air as their oxygen-starved bodies could. Especially not when Clove and Cato glided to the side and hid amongst the shadows the irregular structure of the Cornucopia provided. 

Pausing, she watched the pair, inwardly shaking her head from how unaware they were of their surroundings, of how close they were to death. 

When Lover Boy got to his feet, Clove struck. Slinking from her spot, she placed her knife against his throat and with the boy practically putty in her arms, she shoved him towards Cato before lunging at Twelve. 

Finally. 

The both of them fell against the metal ground, arms and legs tangled as each fought to get the upper hand. But with Clove having the advantage of coming up unannounced, she prevailed and forced the brunette down. 

“NO!” Twelve screeched, hands already fumbling with her bow and arrows in her quiver. “PEETA!”

“Oh  _ yes _ ,” Clove mocked, batting the brunette’s hands away with ease. “Hello, darling,” she grinned, mouth spreading into a large smirk. “Looks like we’ve come full circle.” 

Punctuating her sentence, she forced her dagger through the brunette’s forearm, the blade cleaving through cloth and flesh, between the ulna and the radius and made its way home through. 

Twelve screamed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as her legs kicked up frantically but Clove remained sturdy, unflinching as she released her hold on the pinned arm. 

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know,” she said, tilting her head. “Especially when you’re from a nowhere like District Twelve. You should learn your place,” she declared, straightening. “Don’t you think so as well, Cato? Does the Girl on Fire need to learn her place?” 

Her district partner snorted and twisted Lover Boy’s arm when he squirmed. 

“He agrees.” Clove grinned back down at the trembling girl. “You know what they say, if you fail, you just get up and continue. So,” she grabbed the small blade from her vest and trailed the cold cruel tip from Fire Bitch’s cheeks to her forehead. “Three times I’ve failed to get you, but here we are. No one is going to save you now. And you’ll have to pay for being such a fucking nuisance.”

With that, she forcefully dug the blade through skin and began to carve. Three uniformed lines formed on that perfect pale space. “Three lines for the three times I’ve failed,” she said.

Under her, Fire Bitch bucked and shrieked, blood mingling with tears and snot and saliva but Clove didn’t care. 

“And as a reminder to you and to everyone that had been rooting for scum like Twelves, District Two will always come up on top.” Clove hissed and jerked Twelve’s chin from one side to the other, admiring the cheekbones she’d been wanting to carve into from the start. 

She made a curved incision on the left, carving the number two and then a straight line under the number. Next, the number twelve was formed. “Two over…twelve,” she finished grandly, pulling back to admire her handiwork. “Because Two trumps Twelve over any fucking day.” 

In the background, she can hear Lover Boy screaming and crying for  _ Katniss _ and  _ please _ and  _ stop _ and _ I’m begging you _ and Clove stopped, turning her head to see Cato holding back the shorter boy with ease. 

However, it was the absolute heartbreak on the boy’s face that made her still, fingers loosening her grip on the knife in her palm. 

If Bread Boy really loved his district partner as it showed on his face, Clove didn’t want to think or even imagine the pain he must be feeling. Fuck knows what she’d do if their positions were swapped and she was forced to watch someone murder Cato right in front of her and being unable to stop it. 

“Clove?”

Her eyes darted up to Cato’s searching ones and she hastily glanced away.

Looking down at the trembling, shell-shocked girl, Clove pressed her lips into a thin line. Fire Bitch didn’t want to be here anymore than she did and Clove couldn’t blame her for wanting to survive, to live. But it all came down to either of them and Clove would never feel guilty for choosing Cato and herself. Swallowing harshly, she quickly slit the girl’s throat with a flick of her wrist, watching the life fade out of Twelve’s eyes. 

The Girl on Fire was gone. 

She got up and sheathed the blade back in her vest. “Just kill him quick, Cato. I want to go home.” 

A deafening snap which was followed by a body crumpling the ground echoed and Clove closed her eyes, knees almost giving way. 

It was over.

They won. 

They were going home. 

Words could never express the gratitude, the relief, the utter ecstatic joy that was coursing through her body. She sidled up to Cato’s side, arms wrapping around him, burying her face into his chest. Breathing in his scent, Clove slumped her shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Beneath her palms, she could feel the blond trembling and with the way his arms enveloped her, and his muttered repetitions of her name, it was safe to say he felt the same. 

Belatedly, they sank down. Mindful of Cato’s injury, she settled at his side, waiting for the announcement that declared them the winners of the 74th Games.

And just as she thought she’d conquered the world, done the impossible, it all came crashing down around her in seconds.

_ “Attention. Attention, tributes. There’s been a slight rule change. The previous revision allowing for two victors from the same district has been revoked. Only one victor may be crowned. Good luck. And may the odds be ever in your favor.” _

She closed her eyes.

It was all for nothing. 

Everything had been for nothing. 

Numbly, she watched as Cato pushed away from her, howling and cursing at the sky. She didn’t register the threats and words of anger he hurled nor the way he shook his fists at the sky, looking terribly deranged and out of control. 

She should have expected this. 

They weren’t the favourites to win. The Capitol’s real favourites lay dead not a few metres away from them and Clove wondered if this was the plan right from the start, to instill hope and take it away to see a battle to the death between partners as the ultimate entertainment. Or would it be different if the pair from Twelve had emerged as victors? 

Whatever. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t any point in thinking about this any further. 

The Capitol would never let the both of them walk out of the Arena alive. One of them had to leave in a box and the other crowned. 

It all came back to the start. Clove would do what she’d intended the minute she’d been picked during the Reaping. 

Pushing herself up, she grabbed Cato by the arm and kissed him, lips moving softly, tenderly, doing her best to convey the torrent of emotions in heart. The sorrow of having to leave, the joy of having him at her side all these years, the grief of all she was to lose began to choke her, the contentment she’d felt being his and he, hers for those few days—they all bubbled up. 

Slowly, she pulled away slightly, hands cradling his cheeks, committing every single detail of his face to memory. And this time, Clove knew she could say it with feeling and certainty.

“Love you,” she murmured against his mouth.

It wasn’t the exact three words but it was enough. They gave her the strength to do what she had to. 

She didn’t hesitate. 

Eyes shut and with a firm steady grip around a blade, she applied enough pressure and pulled the serrated edge across her neck.

“CLOVE, NO!”

It may not be the death she’d envisioned for herself. But this—him, she could and would die gladly for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Any dialogue used from the movies or books do not belong to me but to their rightful owners.
> 
> The chapter count has been bumped up by one to tie all the loose ends together so take note of that! Also, i do intend to write that companion fic (which i mentioned in the previous chapter) so if you notice this work as a part 1 of 'blah blah blah' don't worry about there being a sequel or me dragging things unnecessarily! This fic is 99% completed with its promised HEA! Happy Monday, loves and tysm for reading!


	10. incandescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning of sexual content ahead.

As a child, when Clove misbehaved or didn’t do well enough in the Academy rankings, she would be locked in the closet, her cries and pleas to be let out ignored by her parents. Ever since, it was safe to say she had a strong aversion to confined spaces and the dark. 

In District Two, having fears were considered a sign of weakness. Hence, over the years, Clove had forced herself to confront them. Any activity that involved her being in a tight cramped area, she would sign herself up. Trekking alone in the dark outskirts of Two? She would be there. By fifteen, she was proud to say that she’d conquered them. 

Or so she thought. 

She was in the dark. Why couldn’t she see anything? 

Breath quickening, Clove tried to lift her hands up to rub at her eyes, to find out what the hell was blocking her vision, only to realise that her hands weren’t responding. 

What the fuck was going on? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she move?

Distantly, panic began clawing up her chest and she frantically commanded her brain to do something— _ anything.  _ The longer none of her limbs were able to respond, Clove began to hyperventilate. Her mind began screaming for her to open her mouth to gulp down some much needed air. But of course, it didn’t help. She thought she might actually start to choke to death right there and then until awareness flooded through her senses. 

Someone was screaming. And no. It wasn’t her. 

“....fuck is wrong with her?!” 

“Please, move aside—”

“Lay a single finger on me and I’ll rip you apart with a fucking smile on my face!” 

Clove knew that voice. But somehow, she couldn’t picture the face that belonged to its owner. 

“...heart is too fast…she’s panicking….”

“She’s awake?! Clove!”

“Boy, move it...not helping... let the professionals…”

God, why the fuck couldn’t she open her eyes? She knew that second voice too.

“She dies, I die! Remember that!  _ Now fix her!”  _

A sliver of blinding brightness entered her eyes and she winced, shrinking away. Despite wanting to flail about and scream to show she was awake and conscious, everything turned black when she felt a slight pinch in her arm. Soon enough, Clove found herself being thrown into oblivion. 

Upon awakening, the first thing Clove noticed was the pink-skinned man standing to her left. He was a Capitol clone—skin dyed a horrible shade of fuchsia, obnoxiously long white eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones when he blinked. From the way he was dressed, she guessed that he had to be some sort of doctor.

When she met his gaze, she furrowed her brows, unsure if the white-clothed figure was just a figment of her imagination. She didn’t recognise him, nor the room she was in. However, when he moved, tapping furiously on the tablet in his hand, she froze, mind whirring into action as jumbled scenes flashed through her mind at rapid speed. 

Killing Twelve. The Capitol mutts. Bread Boy screaming. Cato getting hurt. The revocation of the amended rule. 

But most of all, she clearly remembered slitting a knife across her throat, killing herself. So why was she still breathing?

She can’t have imagined slicing her own neck, not when she can vividly recall the brief flash of pain, of her sweaty palm clutching the wooden handle of the blade, heart and mind feeling terribly numb and hopeless. Nor could she have dreamt it up, despite the lack of a raised scar on her throat where one should be. Exactly how was she still alive? 

Unless…

Her mouth parted as her jaw worked involuntarily. 

Cato had died.

Lower lip trembling, she fisted her hands into the sheets on her sides, pulling her knees inwards. No. That couldn’t have happened. Cato couldn’t be gone. She wouldn’t accept it. She can’t. But that didn’t explain her being alive. The Games only allowed for a single winner and if she was still breathing, it meant that Cato had to be dead.

The back of her eyes stung and Clove inhaled shakily, frantically grabbing at her chest as though the mere action would ease the agony of her heart from being rendered into two. 

_ Together or nothing. _

Compelling herself to get some fucking control or at least for the moment, she jerked upright, releasing great gasping breaths and cast wary eyes around the room. Surely, there had to be something here she could use. Something she could use as a weapon. Something she could use to kill. 

Spotting a plastic ruler on a metal table not far from her bed, she chanced a glance back at the pink-skinned man and tensed, gearing herself to attack, body poised to strike. 

“If you would remain still for a moment—”

Her eyes flashed and she hissed, baring her teeth before lunging. Pushing herself off the bed, Clove ignored her shaky knees, forcing them to bear her weight as she reached for the piece of stationary. With a quick twist of her wrist, the ruler broke, revealing a sharp jagged edge. While her makeshift weapon wasn’t as effective as her knives, she knew with great certainty that this could still do quite a fair bit of damage.

Without hesitation, she whirled around, arms reaching for the man to shove him to the ground. Pinning him down with her knees pressing into his gut, she ignored the man’s cry and jammed her elbow into his windpipe, effectively blocking any further attempts to get help. 

With the broken edge of the ruler positioned at the jugular of his throat, Clove tilted her head and was about to dig it into flesh when Peacekeepers burst through the doors, guns out and aimed right in her direction. Though the sight of the six armed and armoured man didn’t make her flinch, what stopped her from pursuing her suicide mission was the sight of Enobaria marching in a few seconds later. 

“Girl, put that down,” she ordered, eyes narrowing.  _ “Now,”  _ the older woman added forcefully when she didn’t move. 

Clove didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Didn’t do anything, really.

“Put that down. It’s fine, I’ll explain everything—”

“I was supposed to be dead,” she interjected, voice hoarse and throat scratchy from not being used in days. Or was it weeks? She didn’t know. 

“Just put that down—”

_ “No!” _

“Clove, I’m telling you—”

“I’m supposed to be dead,” she snarled, ignoring the stillness of the doctor beneath her or the way her heart was just a raw broken mess in her ribcage. “Cato was supposed to win and go home! Why didn’t you bring him back instead?”

Enobaria’s lip flattened into a thin line as she took a step closer but Clove reacted faster. Without breaking her gaze away from her Mentor, she squeezed the man’s throat, digging crescent-shaped marks into flesh, eliciting a pained whimper. 

“Stay away,” she warned lowly, tilting her head to the side. “I may not have a knife but anything sharp is a good replacement to kill. _ ”  _

“You don’t have to,” Enobaria snapped. “You’re not in the Arena anymore. You’re  _ safe _ .”

Not even caring about the Peacekeepers who were no doubt close to yanking her off and putting bullets through her skull, Clove shrugged. “I don’t care. I was supposed to die and Cato was to win the Games. But he’s dead. And now, so am I. Go ahead and shoot me.” 

Her Mentor opened her mouth but Clove turned away. She didn’t need to hear anymore. She had said all that had to be said. She was ready. 

Wetting her lower lip, she straightened, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable pain of being torn apart by rapid gunfire. Looking down at the whimpering man, she closed her eyes, steadying herself and—

“Cato’s alive!” 

Eyes snapping wide, Clove froze. When she spoke, her voice was a hairbreadth away from a whisper. “What?”

“He’s fine!” Enobaria hissed, palms facing outwards in the air as she took another wary step closer. “You both won.”

“No. You’re lying.” 

“I’m not! You’re both Victors!”

Lies. It was all lies. Clove shook her head. She would not listen to this. 

“I promise you. Your partner is alive and kicking and being a pain in my ass,” Enobaria insisted before throwing the uniformed soldiers a glare when they adjusted their grip on their weapons. “Trust me,” she said, turning back to her. “When have I ever misled you? I’ve been on your side this whole time.”

Clove hesitated and that was all it took for the Peacekeepers to strike. Together, they hauled her unresisting form off her captive before splitting up. Four of them were positioned around her while the remaining two led the doctor out of the room. 

But none of her attention was on any of that. Not when she caught sight of Cato barging into the room, causing the doors to swing outwardly, banging hard against the wall, eyes wild and frantic as he scanned the room. When they landed on her still form in a corner, surrounded by the four men, he grew enraged, face flushed as he shouldered past everyone else to get to her. 

“Get the fuck away from her!”

A shuddering gasp escaped from her throat and Clove was ashamed to say she burst into tears.

“Stop crying, Clovey.” 

“Shut up!” she snapped between gasping hiccups and noisy sobs that made her feel like a kid again. Still, she didn’t let go. 

Not when Cato had to push her head down between her thighs to fend off her impending panic attack, or when he’d guided her to the bed when her knees finally gave up, bringing her to the ground. The moment he arrived, approaching her limp form, she’d bawled into his shirt and refused to let go. 

If she thought it possible, Clove would’ve climbed under his skin and stayed there. 

Fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt as she pressed her face into his chest, Clove released another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent as his large hands spanned her back, rubbing soothing patterns. It calmed her, finally allowing herself to steady her breathing, for the tears to stop falling.

“How?” She gasped, drawing back slightly so she could look up at him. “I died.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“But—”

Slowly, he swiped a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You almost did. There was so much blood and you were—” he cut himself off and shook his head.

She didn’t reply, pressing her face further into his hand. Eager to touch him, to feel him on her, she curled closer towards him. Body fitting against him, Clove buried her face into the crook of his neck, feeling the steady rhythmic throb of his pulse and the heat of him, signalling that he was truly alive and well. That he wasn’t some sick fantasy her mind had concocted to help her cope with his death. 

“Can we get some fucking privacy?” Cato demanded abruptly, throwing a furious glower over his shoulder. 

Enobaria’s snort and the sound of retreating marching punctuated the fact they were finally alone.

The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. 

He tilted her chin before cupping her face in his hands, palms cradling her cheeks as he lowered his head. Mouth hot and fast, he moved against her lips urgently and hungrily. It was as if he was trying to speak a thousand words through the melding of their mouths. 

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” His voice, low and rough broke through. 

“Huh?”

“You tried to kill yourself for me!” he snapped, drawing back. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I’ve always intended to make sure you won the Games even at my own expense.”   


_ “Why?” _

“I…” she avoided his eyes and played with a loose thread from the hem of his shirt. “I have nothing back home for me if I won. You know that. And between you and I, you deserved to come home. You would have been fine without me.”

Cato’s face darkened. 

“No,” he retorted, shaking his head. “That’s fucking untrue.”

“It is not,” she argued, tilting her chin. “You have friends, your family and regarding what you feel for me, you’ll have gotten over them eventually.”

“Stop!” he barked. With gentleness she didn’t expect, his larger hands grabbed hers, their fingers intertwining, like puzzle pieces slotting perfectly. “Fucking hell, Clove. Don’t you get it? Living without you isn’t worth it. Life without  _ you _ isn’t worth it.”

She gaped at him, lips parting. 

“Together or nothing, remember? Isn’t that what you said? So what the fuck happened to that?” 

A disbelieving snort escaped and she glanced away, unable to meet those accusative blue eyes or admit to feeling his hands trembling in her smaller ones. 

“Why are you always throwing my own words back at me?” she mumbled.

Cato shook his head. “When your knife went across your throat, blood spilling out, you were just…” he swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to steady himself. “You were just limp in my arms and—fuck, there was just so much blood and I…” 

“What happened then?”

His eyes opened, meeting hers squarely, a cold glint appearing in those icy depths. “I threatened them. Said that if you died, I’ll kill myself right there and then. I meant it. Of course, they complied immediately. They needed their fucking winner.”

The conviction ringing through his voice sent chills down her spine. Clove furrowed her brows, shifting as Cato released her hands to push her hair behind her ears. The action was done so carefully, his fingers lingering on her jaw as he gazed at her. 

However, it was the turbulent emotions in his eyes that did her in. 

She bit her lip and reached out, taking the initiative to soothe him. The tip of her thumb grazed the tiny scar on his left eyebrow. A scar he’d gotten when he once failed to move away when she’d hurled a blade at him. Perhaps, she was a little sick for liking the fact she’d marked him permanently with her knives, even though it’d been an accident. 

Cato shuddered, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into her touch as she cupped his cheek, feeling the prickly stubble growing over his jaw. Observing him, Clove could tell he’d aged by half a decade considering the newer lines on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes and the way he seemed to have matured. 

He was no longer the arrogant cocky boy of their childhood who believed he was invincible, that everything could be solved with his fists. He couldn’t be. Not after the hell they’ve gone through, especially the shit she’d pulled at the end. She mourned for that boy. 

But yet, Clove didn’t regret it. 

She would do it all over again if it meant him being alive and kicking.

“Don’t you fucking do that to me again.” Cato sounded exhausted, but there was no denying the forceful nature of his tone nor the warning in his heavy-lidded stare. 

She didn’t bother replying—they both knew her answer. Instead, Clove graced him with a small tiny smile and carded her hands through his tousled hair. 

“I mean it,” he mumbled, brushing his lips on the top of her head. “I fucking mean it, Clovey.” 

“I’ll try.”

With that, she leaned closer, hooking her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. As her brain brought forward every thought and emotion she had for her best friend, she focused on him, on Cato, the boy she would kill and die for. The boy she would do anything for. 

_ Cato, Cato, Cato _ .

The blond growled, responding to her with equal fervour as he tugged her onto his lap, arms banding around her like steel bars. With the way he was kissing her eagerly, all demanding and rough, to her, it felt as if he was trying to remind himself that she was here with him—alive. 

When her lungs were about to shrivel up and die from the lack of oxygen, she reluctantly pulled away, lips lingering on his as she stroked his cheek. “I love you,” she murmured, raising her lashes to meet Cato’s half-lidded gaze. “I fucking love you.” 

His cerulean eyes went impossibly soft, mouth curving into a smile as he hugged her tightly, not leaving a single inch of space between their bodies. 

“Love you too, Clovey,” he mumbled into her hair. “So fucking much.” 

The crowning ceremony passed in a blur of flashing lights and colours. 

If she was asked to bring up one thing she remembered from the whole event, Clove would give the description of President Snow’s cold unnerving eyes as he placed a golden crown on her head. Of how that single look made her feel as though he’d managed to read her like a book in that short few seconds. 

But that could never be compared with the assessing gaze he gave to Cato when he was hailed as the second Victor. She can’t accurately describe it, but she knew it was nothing good. Chills went down her spine and something heavy landed in her belly at Snow’s distinct tone when he congratulated them. 

If she thought she was capable of shielding the blond from that icy dissatisfied stare, she would do so in a heartbeat. But with Enobaria meeting her eyes from across the room, Clove forced herself to remain still, a bland smirk on her face as the crowd continued to roar their approval when they were officially presented as the first pair to win the Hunger Games.

And of course, the interview with Caesar Flickerman hadn’t gone any better. 

Hands clasped together and decked out in Capitol finery, Clove followed Cato’s lead as they stepped onto the stage. Focusing her eyes on the back of his head, she took slow steady steps, doing her best to block out the crowd’s deafening cheers and screams.

Flickerman was gleefully stirring the crowd, encouraging the audience’s standing ovation with his customary shit-eating grin on his face as he welcomed them on his turf.

Staying true to their cultivated facade of the last time they’ve been there, Cato smirked, leaning back into his chair as he spread his legs and lifted one up to rest across his thigh. She, on the other hand, sat at his right, crossing her ankles daintily as she gazed at the crowd impassively. Despite that, Clove leaned closer to the blond when he slung an arm around her waist, fingers gripping her hips. 

If it was possible, the Capitol grew louder at their blatant display of affection.

The interview started off with a recap of the Games, showing key highlights that have occurred. Watching herself on screen, Clove grimaced inwardly. But she sat up straighter when scenes of her fellow tributes made their appearance, marvelling at their sheer stupidity. Though the scene of Twelve kissing Lover Boy made her raise her brows skeptically. 

Truthfully, Clove hoped the cameras hadn’t caught her and Cato when they’ve been in that similar position. 

But they did. With her and Cato being romantically linked, all of their private moments being made public caused her to shift in her seat and clench her teeth. She hated this. Hated that outsiders now had a glimpse of her private life, of her relationship with Cato.

Thankfully, the montage ended soon enough. The last thing to be featured was their crowning ceremony and that’s when the questions started. 

As Cato was the sociable one in their pair, he answered Flickerman’s questions with ease and charm. Engaging the crowd with a cocky flair they seemed to adore, he talked, grabbing everyone’s attention with his replies. In fact, with him spearheading the interview, she’d hoped that Flickerman would forget all about her and simply aim his attention on her partner. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen and the next thing she knew, Flickerman turned to her, crafty eyes gleaming as he shifted them her way. 

“Now we’ve all heard Cato’s side and I’m sure we all are curious about you, Clove. Being the last two tributes at the end, how did you feel when the ultimatum was issued? We all knew you’d rather die than fight Cato—we all saw what you did and we were all very moved by your dedication and love for him.” 

Clove stared blankly at him, violent curses and swears rising up in her mind and she opened her mouth, more than ready to shoot some comment about minding his own fucking business when Cato squeezed her waist. Immediately, she deflated and forced a wane smile.

Glancing at the blond in question and with his small nod giving her the strength to speak, she shrugged and resisted the urge to fidget. Eyes never moving away from his magnetic blue ones, she began haltingly, “From the start, I just knew I couldn’t let him die and…I know I would do  _ anything _ for him to win. Ultimately, all that matters to me is his wellbeing and happiness.”

Discomfort creeped up her spine as their audience let out simultaneous gushes and coos at her admission. 

Fuck. She swallowed, a muscle in her cheek twitching from how hard she was clenching her teeth. It only took Cato lacing their fingers together that her frayed nerves steadied. If that wasn’t enough, he leaned closer, brushing a kiss on her temple. 

That alone sent the crowd into a further frenzy and even Flickerman looked awed and touched. 

When it was finally over and they were back in their room in their apartment, Clove kicked off her heels and leaned against the wall. Resting her head on the door, she shut her eyes and let out a heavy exhale. Tension, thick and heavy in her bones, dissipated, causing her to sag and for her shoulders to slump. 

She was both mentally and emotionally wrung out.

Watching the recap of the Games, especially the more horrifying personal moments like the times where she thought he’d died or more glaringly, the two times she’d almost died, it felt like she was reliving everything. It brought back all those fucking twisted emotions. To her, it was as if she was drowning with no piece of land in sight, lost in her own mind and heart. 

“You okay?” Cato’s voice was even and soft, a stark contrast to his arrogant facade from earlier. 

She nodded, unable to speak. 

“Come here.”

Not needing to be told twice, she went to him, allowing her small frame to be enveloped in his welcoming familiar heat. It was only there in his arms that she was at peace, brain quieting as her heart calmed. Cato may be many things but for now, he was her lifeboat.

“Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” she whispered into his shirt. “Every fucking word.” 

He drew back slightly, brows creased as he tilted her chin upward. “No regrets?”

“No.” She shook her head, eyes never leaving his. 

Clove studied him, tracing his every feature and she realised...she wanted him. Now. If there was one thing the Games had taught her, life was too short and somehow, she’d been granted a miraculous chance at life. Furthermore, watching the clips reminded her how close she’d come to losing it all.

Wordlessly, she tipped her head back, seeking out the familiar warmth of his mouth.

As their lips met, hot and insistent, his hands slowly ran along her sides, fingers slipping to her lower back and down the curve of her ass, causing her body to heat up, to yearn for  _ more.  _ Swiping her tongue along his lower lip, that action provoked him and Clove found herself being slammed against the back of the wall, the kiss she’d initiated taking a whole new direction. 

Cato took charge, drugging her senses with the sheer magnitude of him, of his skillful mouth and eager swipes of his tongue. Whimpers and pants escaped her throat and Clove felt she could keep on kissing him even though her lungs were burning for their need of oxygen. At this point, she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when he was doing  _ that _ with his tongue. 

Her head fell back and she rested it against the wall, exposing the long expanse of her throat. That didn’t stop him. He began working down her jaw, creating bruises on random spots on her collarbones. Clove would feel bad he had to hunch to reach her considering their height difference but it felt so fucking good that she merely tilted her head further. Meanwhile, Cato’s hands had already found their way under her dress, calloused digits dragging along the soft sensitized skin of her waist, causing her brain to spin off wildly.

Even though her mind was hazy and lust rushing through her veins, she knew that she wanted his shirt gone. She needed to bare skin against her fingertips, wanted to re-familiarise herself with the dips and planes of his torso, to trace both old and new scars on his body. Curling her fingers into the luxurious garment, she yanked hard. 

“Cato,” she mumbled against the skin of his neck. “Off. Get your shirt off.” 

Impatiently, she didn’t wait for him to respond but began to fumble with the tiny buttons, doing her best to free the small plastic discs from their loops. 

Chest rumbling, he batted her hands away and simply wrenched his shirt off. Not waiting to see where the offending piece of clothing landed, he was back on her in a flash. Except this time, he hauled her up and wrapped her legs around his hips while leaving soft kisses and nips along her jawline.

Running her hands over his exposed flesh, she made a mental map of the various scars and ropes of muscle spanning his back. Sighing as Cato slid a hand up her waist, fingers brushing the sides of her breast, Clove squirmed and arched her back, eager for  _ this _ and  _ more  _ and  _ everything. _

Arousal, liquid and hot coiled low in her belly and she fisted her fingers in his blond locks as he began to rub himself against her. The friction of his hard heavy length grounding against her needy core sent her reeling and she shuddered. 

How had she ever gone through life without  _ this? _

“Bed,” she moaned, hips thrusting impatiently against his when a hand slid up to cup the swell of her breast. “Bed.  _ Now.”  _

“Fuck,” he groaned hoarsely. 

That was the last thing she heard before Cato drew back and tugged at her dress. The silk ripped from her side and Clove didn’t have time to react before he tore the material off her shoulders before unhooking her bra with dexterity she didn’t miss. 

“An expert, huh?” 

“No.” He shot her a look through dilated pupils. “It’s just hooks. What’s so difficult about that?”

She would’ve given some smartass comment had it not been for the way his mouth drew a hardened peak into his mouth. 

Immediately, her hips bucked and she whimpered, tugging hard on his hair, head banging hard against the wall as his tongue laved flat broad strokes against her nipple. That alone sent her blood roaring through her veins, heating her up as she squirmed and undulated her hips, rocking against him eagerly, trying to get him to move.

“Cato!” she hissed through narrowed eyes. “Bed!” Jerking his head with her fingers tangled in his hair and glaring at her stupid boyfriend who obliged her wordlessly. 

Instead of letting her down, he simply carried her over to their bed. Within seconds, the blond had stripped them off their remaining articles of clothing, tossing the ripped scraps to the floor. A delicate moan escaped her lungs from how sensitive her body was, waiting for his touch, every part of her so very aware of him and his presence, of his large stature hovering over her, of his powerful muscular thighs at her sides, of the little stubble on his jaw grazing her hypersensitive skin. And as he got on top of her, it struck Clove that this was finally happening. 

Everything between them, good and bad had culminated in this moment. 

_ “Fuck, Clove— _ ”

She watched slyly, loving how she could reduce him to gasping trembling mess with just a few tight strokes of her hand. His mouth dropped open, darkened eyes turning hazy as he gaped down at her. 

“Yeah?”

He growled, pushing her hand away as he settled between her thighs and now it was her turn to gasp when he planted hot-open mouthed kisses from her neck down to her sternum. Squeezing her eyes shut, Clove bit her lip hard, body quivering from how weak and boneless she felt when his fingers delved through her slick folds and in her with ease. Fuck, she didn’t even want to know how wet she was for this. For him.

Chest heaving, blood roaring in her ears, she arched her back when the pads of his fingers curled up and grazed that spot right there—

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! _

He smirked at her writhing form and that very sight sent her reeling, wanting for more. At this point, she was so done with foreplay. She wanted to get to the next bit  _ now _ .

“Stop teasing,” she grumbled, giving him a disgruntled look from under her lashes. “I’m ready. Just do it.” 

He studied her, darkened eyes scanning her features. “Sure?” He arched a brow.

“Yeah.” 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched in anticipation as Cato nudged her legs apart to settle between them. Taking his length in his hand, he guided himself to the apex of her thighs and she tensed, anticipation roaring through her ears as lust drummed through her entire being. 

“Are you really—”

“Would you just move it?”   


Cato snorted and pinched her side and she squirmed, a grin breaking on her face. Truly, she loved that they’re still them even while doing this. 

When the blunt head of his cock slid into her for the very first time, she went rigid as she inhaled sharply. Grimacing as she grabbed onto the sheets, she swore inwardly. Fuck. Why did Cato have to be so huge in form, and she, tiny in comparison? She’d never had this problem before. 

“Oh fuck, Clove!” He let out a little moan, head dropping to rest on her chest as his arms trembled from the strain of holding himself back and not thrusting away. 

“Don’t go too fast,” she panted, tightening her hold on the sheets. 

“I… _ oh fuck... _ wasn’t going to.” 

She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get her body acclimated to the feel of him stretching her wide as he delved deeper into her, inch by inch. The burn played on her senses and from a particularly deep slide, her back arched involuntarily, lungs releasing a shaky drawn out moan. 

Cato’s hips gave a little helpless jerk and his eyes glazed over, mouth falling open. She watched, entirely transfixed by the expression on his face as she shifted, doing her best to allow her body to relax, to welcome him in even more. From how his ridiculously slow thrusts were creating frissions of pleasure to zip down her spine, she wondered if this felt as good for him as it was for her. 

With the way he was starting to pant, moaning her name, it was safe to say yes.

“Don’t stop,” he grunted, lowering his head once more to mouth at her neck. His tongue darted out, swirling unknown patterns along the oversensitized skin of her neck. “Fuck, Clovey, you feel so…fucking good.” 

She responded by adjusting the angle of her abdomen, arching her spine and tilting her hips up. And when Cato drove himself home to the hilt, the mere action sent her spiralling. Nails digging into his back, she held on for dear life as the blond began to pick up speed, fucking her into the mattress. 

Her eyes snapped wide open and her mouth fell into a silent scream. 

This was exactly what she wanted from that day in the Arena. 

Cato’s eyes were wild, pupils fully blown as he gazed down at her, hips pounding away and Clove could only move with him, to do her best to meet his hard rough thrusts as he led them to heaven on earth. For Clove, it felt like her muscles were stretched too tightly over her bones, her blood was liquid fire, spreading the wonderful sensation of pleasure to every fibre of her being and—

The mounting pressure within her burst and there was nothing—absolutely  _ nothing _ but pure perfect waves of heat and bliss that spread to every inch of her being. In fact, it was so powerful that Clove felt lightheaded and the stars underneath her eyelids burst into fireworks and she was hurtling through space as she ceased to exist. 

With a few more powerful thrusts of his hips, Cato let himself go, releasing an almost bestial roar before collapsing to the space on her side as he spilled in her. Immediately, he slung a heavy arm around her waist to pull her closer, nuzzling his face into her hair. 

Clove stared at the ceiling, trying her best to catch her breath as her body dragged itself down from what was the best fucking orgasm of her life. 

When her lungs are back in working order, she turned her head and took him in, eyes drifting from the sweaty planes of his chest to the pulse in his neck hammering wildly. Next, they jumped to his parted lips, his slightly crooked nose and the tangled mess of his hair. She won’t admit it but satisfaction bloomed within her at the sight of him being so utterly wrecked. 

And it was all because of her.

A beat of silence reigned and Clove didn’t think she had ever felt so contented and sated. With the pleasurable hum and afterglow of sex buzzing through her veins like morphine, her mind was shutting off, her brain heading into sleep.

“It was that good, huh?”

At that, her eyes snapped wide open and she threw him a dirty look over her shoulder.

An infuriating smirk was on his face and in retaliation, she shifted. Uncaring about her nudity she reached over, hand snaking through tangled sheets and sweat-slicked limbs before pinching his side. Cato jerked, almost falling off the edge of the bed and she snickered.

Once more, silence descended and Clove curled closer to him, burrowing deeper into their nest of heat and blankets and wrinkled sheets. In return, he grunted and tangled their legs together, fingers smoothing down her mussed up locks of hair. The rhythmic stroking of his hands in her hair lulled her to sleep and she would have dozed off if Cato hadn’t opened his big fat mouth. 

“I want to kill them.”

“Who?”

“The guys you’ve slept with before me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“Because they’ve seen you naked. Because they touched you. Because they fucked you. Need I say more?” 

Now fully awake, Clove smirked, revelling in the possessive edge in his voice as she trailed lazy patterns on his skin. “Jealous?”

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes. “Yes.” 

Propping her chin up with her hand, Clove peered up at him. “Then you should give me the name of every girl you’ve been with. I think it’s fair I gouge out their eyeballs for even looking at you.” 

“Fuck, Clove,” he laughed, “You’re fucking perfect.”

She fought off the smile tugging on her lips and simply buried her face into the crook of his neck as his fingers tightened on her waist. 

They were both fucking twisted but really, Clove wouldn’t have it any other way.

> Even though the Capitol had removed the scar across her throat, there are times where Clove thought she could still feel it if she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough. 

It was now one of those times. 

But with Cato lying across her lap as they watched some insipid Capitol programme, she daren’t reach up to touch her neck. The blond never liked talking about that incident, preferring to avoid all mention of the subject. In fact, she knew he would erase it from his memory if he could.

Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, nails scraping against his scalp in the manner she knew he secretly liked and repeated the motion. Head resting on the top of her thighs, he shifted, burrowing further against her abdomen, clutching her free hand on his chest lazily.

It’d been a while since they’ve been back in Two. 

Things were different now. 

The moment they were formally declared as the winners of the 74th Games, making history being the first ever pair to be Victors, they were treated differently. Wherever they went, they were treated with awe and God-like respect and Clove desperately wished things could be how it was. But that was wishful thinking on her part. Nothing could ever be the same again. Hell, neither her nor Cato were the same person any longer. They may have conquered the Games, but it didn’t come without a price.

She’d never been one to be constantly on edge, to look over her shoulder whenever she left the house. Now, anything that caught her off guard, be it a sudden movement or a flicker from the corner of her eye, she would become defensive, poised to attack, to kill first and ask questions later. 

More often than not, it was Cato who would shake her out of it by holding her, bringing her back to the present and silently reminding her that she fucking won and so had he. That she was fine and well and that they’ve done the impossible. 

However, despite being her rock, her shelter in the storm, Cato had demons of his own too.

There were nights where he didn’t sleep and spent the hours in his woodcarving room, only emerging when the sun rose. She knew this when she’d woken up in the middle of the night to find the space beside her cold and empty. Clove had seen the figurines of the Capitol mutts from the Arena and the faces of dead tributes. If that wasn’t enough, Cato was more protective than before, never liking being too far away or unaware of her whereabouts. After all they’ve gone through, she could understand this.

Cato does not bring up whatever he’s dealing with and nor does she ask. But she would give him a gentle squeeze on his arm and a tiny smile that sent the shadows away in his eyes, albeit temporarily. 

Regardless, Clove figured that as long as they have each other, they could handle anything. 

When she walked out from the Academy two weeks later, the sight of Enobaria waiting for at the large double doors made her feet come to a halt. 

She hadn’t seen the older woman for a while. Not since they arrived back in Two. But when her Mentor stepped in line and made some barbed comment about the state of her hair, Clove scoffed and stalked down the roads leading back to the Victor’s Village. 

And while the darker skinned woman spoke, voice dripping scorn and sneers, Clove did not miss the way she flicked her gaze around warily around the street.

While that wouldn’t have been odd in other circumstances, it felt out of place considering they were in Two. Dark eyes narrowed and brows pulled into a frown, Enobaria was the picture of suspicion. Despite her deceptive casual stride that Clove knew was just a front, it was almost as if the older woman was preparing herself, waiting for something. 

For what, Clove didn’t know. But she was resolved to find out. 

Hence, the moment she shut the door behind them, seeking out Cato who was at the dinner table, she whirled around and curled her lip. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” Cato frowned.

“Not  _ you.”  _ She shifted her stare towards their former Victor leaning against the open doorway insouciantly. “Her. Earlier, you looked like you were getting ready for an attack. What was that about?”

Enobaria arched her brows and said dryly, “How perceptive you are, girl. You should know.”

“Know what? What’s going on?”

“You mean you didn’t tell her?” Their Mentor scoffed, crossing her arms before pinning Cato with a scowl. “You said you would before we left the Capitol. That was a month ago!” 

“Didn’t tell me what?” 

Cato’s face darkened, ignoring the glare Clove was boring into the side of his face. _ “Not now,”  _ he gritted through his teeth. 

“What the fuck is going on?” she demanded hotly, darting narrowed eyes between the two. “What do the two of you know that I don’t?”

Enobaria clenched her jaw. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the increased number of Peacekeepers or the patrols?” 

Truthfully, she hadn’t but Clove was not going to admit that. She arched a brow, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “What about it?”

“Don’t you get it?” Enobaria growled, sharpened fangs gleaming from the reflecting crystals of the chandelier as she flicked her straightened hair over her shoulder. “It’s all because of the fucking stunt your boyfriend pulled!”

Head snapping towards Cato, she was met with a sullen glare and an unremorseful expression. 

“Is this because he saved me?” she asked, turning back to Enobaria and wetting her lower lip which had become chapped from all the chewing and biting she’d done over the past weeks. “It shouldn’t matter. The Capitol still has their winner for the Games—”

“That’s not it!” Their Mentor snapped, eyes sparking with fire as she slammed her palm on the table. “You can’t possibly be this  naïve ! What he’s done, breaking the rules of the Games, threatening them with his life and bargaining for yours, was and is seen as an open act of defiance! The Capitol doesn’t and will never tolerate that.”

Clove swallowed harshly, lowering her gaze.

“You’ve showed them up, gotten away with it on the most publicised television event of the year. What the fuck do you think is going to happen?!” 

She remained silent, glancing around the room, unable to meet Enobaria’s glare or Cato’s darkened brooding expression. 

Enobaria exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The only reason the two of you are breathing now is because everyone believes Cato isn’t trying to rebel against the Capitol, but that he’s so in love with you he’d risk anything to keep you,” the older woman explained shortly. “I know that’s true of course, I’ve seen the two of you right from the start. But all that matters now, is that everyone continues to believe it. If not, well…” she shrugged. “They better.” 

“Enough!” Cato barked, gunmetal blue eyes flashing with fury as he shoved his chair back, rising to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“To inform you that the Capitol officials will be here warning you in a matter of days,” she deadpanned, baring her teeth. “Thought you’ll like the heads up.” 

“We do,” Clove hastily said, noting the expression on her counterpart’s face. Cato never did like it when anyone threatened her. “Thank you.” 

Enobaria snorted, sniffing in disdain as she waved them off dismissively. “Right.” With that, she was gone. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clove immediately demanded when they were finally alone. 

“Didn’t want to worry you,” he finally said after a moment.

She eyed him and let out a heavy exhale. She would leave this argument for another day. Pushing herself away from the wall, she sank into one of the chairs and propped her chin up with her hand. “How bad is it?” she asked, “The way Enobaria was reacting—”

“Bad.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just a few people who didn’t believe—”

Cato dropped his head as he snorted deprecatingly. “And how long will it take before nobody does? How long more before the Capitol makes an example out of us, hmm? You didn’t see the tapes, Clove. The fires breaking out, the fights, the dissension in the lower districts—” His voice lowered as he met her eyes squarely. “I know I should feel bad I’ve caused this, but the truth is I don’t fucking regret it. Not even for a second. Not when I bought you time. I’ll do it all again if I had a choice.”

She stared at him, lips parting and Clove allowed herself to savour the words he’d thrown out, to let them burrow deep in her twisted heart. God knows why she was blushing, or why she can’t seem to meet Cato’s eyes. This was certainly not the first time he’d let slip some heartfelt comment about his feelings for her. 

Fuck, they’ve already exchanged those three precious words, proven to each other and the world that they’ll die and kill for each other and here she was, getting all red and flustered by some prettily strung words. God, she was pathetic. 

“I just want things to go back to normal,” she said, pursing her lips, looking up at him. “When it was just… when everything was simpler and all that mattered was you and I—”

Cato didn’t respond but came to her side and closed the gap between them. He was crouching down and as she wrapped her arms around him, she could feel the tension knotting in his muscles, the anxiety and worry emanating from him. Slowly, she kneaded the base of his neck with her knuckles, feeling the steady puffs of his breath against her shoulder until he relaxed. 

“The only thing I’m sorry for is having a target painted on our backs.” 

“It’ll be fine,” she said firmly, drawing back slightly and straightened her spine. “Despite how we’ve gotten out of the Games, we’re both Victors, the first pair to win. If we managed that, we can get through anything else.” 

Gunmetal blue eyes met hers evenly. Cato cupped the side of her face, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. Closing her eyes, Clove hummed and covered his hand with hers, rubbing soothing patterns on the back of his palm. 

“We’ll be okay. Together or nothing, remember? We’ll get through this. Like we’d gotten through everything we’ve dealt with. If the Games couldn’t separate us, what else could?

His lips slowly curved into a smirk and she grinned.

What else indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a huge one. Like close to 8k in length and i apologise. Also, here we are, at the end! The last chapter would be tying up all the loose ends and it's in a bonus POV so here's looking to that. Also, I posted a Clato arranged-marriage viking au <strike>because im trash and it's totally self-indulgent and you can check it out if you're interested</strike>
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy. Your feedback means the world to me.


	11. brighten

Cato ran his gaze over her features, barely able to suppress the tug on his mouth at the way Clove was struggling to cut her steak with a fork and a spoon. Her eyes were flared with irritation, her movements jerky as she used the spoon to violently dig out a hunk of meat. The end result of her steak were chunky uneven pieces and juices that were splattered around the aluminium tray.

“Why aren’t you using a knife?”

She snorted, throwing him a dark look from under her lashes.

Beneath the waistband of his trousers, his cock twitched and Cato hastily rubbed at the side of his neck, as though the action would soothe away the flush creeping up his skin.

“Do you really think I want to use a fork and spoon to cut meat?”

“So…”

“They banned me from using knives, dumbass!”

Right.

He grimaced, gazing around the canteen, taking note of the few armed men patrolling the edges of the room. Even though they’ve been here for more than a month, had eaten in this hall with everyone else three times a day, wary hard looks were still thrown their way. And Cato would not even bring up the hostile glares he received on a daily basis.

Being who they were, they glared right back. He, with a murderous snarl, and Clove, with a sinister sneer.

As of now, District Thirteen was easily the safest place they could be. Between the Capitol and the rising tense atmosphere that was now District Two, here in Thirteen, they were at least guaranteed safety and shelter despite their inhospitable companions. 

Cato hadn’t even known there was anything of Thirteen ever since they’ve been wiped out by the Capitol all those years ago. But here they were, eating their food, sleeping in bunkers thousands of feet underground and dealing with distrust and disgust everywhere they went. 

The fucking joys, he thought snidely, levelling an icy glare at a uniformed woman who eyed him scornfully from across the room.

“I’m so fucking sick of the food.” Enobaria drew him away from his staring contest by announcing her arrival with a sharp slam of her tray as she sat beside him.

“You don’t have to eat it,” Clove snarked, curling her lip. “You didn’t have to come either, remember?”

“Of course I had to,” their former Mentor retorted, sharpened fangs glinting from the fluorescent lights. “Who knows what sort of fucked up mess the two of you would’ve been in if I’m not here?”

Cato rolled his eyes, although a small part of him was truly appreciative of how Enobaria had taken the difficult mantle of looking out for them. The older woman had taken them under her wing, sheltering them as best as she could the minute they arrived, ensuring they were well-informed, defending them from the heavy stares of Twelve’s drunken mentor and more, which was ironic considering they were brought here by Thirteen’s orders. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively and rubbed at his temples.

He didn’t need anymore reminders of how they’ve ended up here. He didn’t regret it. Clove was alive and here with him. That was all that mattered.

“Why are you not using a fucking knife? Your food is a fucked up mess.”

His tiny short-fused girlfriend glowered and slammed the end of her fork against the table, attracting the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “I’m not allowed one!” she scoffed, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “But as if that could stop me should I want to go on a killing spree.”

“Shut it, Clovey,” he warned. “Do you want to end up in solitary confinement?”

“Yes.” She shot him a look. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and feel everyone staring at me as though I murdered a bunch of babies.”

“Technically, you did,” Enobaria said, shrugging as she tore into her steak. “You both did.”

" So did you!”

Leaving Clove to argue (he did notice her tendency and enjoyment in verbal sparring) he took her plate and began dicing up her meat into smaller even pieces for her. Unlike his partner, Cato was granted the ability to use a knife during mealtimes. A fact that she was still bitter over. “It’s not fair,” she’d screeched once. “You too could kill them with anything or just with your bare hands. Why am I the one having her knife rights revoked?”

Enobaria had burst into mean laughter and he, unsure of what to say except for a lame murmured, “Fuck if I know.”

Once he was done with her food, he slid the plate back and watched as Clove argued with their Mentor. His eyes traced the way her bright green eyes flared up, indignation rising on her cheeks as she spoke, dark hair curling on her back and his mind went to how close he’d been at losing her. 

It had happened too fast for him to stop her. 

Before he could properly absorb her murmured declaration of her feelings for him, she’d sliced her neck open and all he could do was watch in horror at the sight of her body keeling over, of her blood dripping, It was the copious amount of crimson liquid flowing from the self-inflicted incision that drove him to action. His mind spun, working for a solution that would get them out of this mess alive. At that point, Cato didn’t care about the consequences his actions would’ve wrought. Not when Clove was seconds from dying. 

“If she dies, I die!” he’d screamed at the sky, clutching her limp body frantically that dreaded day in the Arena. “The minute she stops breathing, I’ll end myself here and now and you won’t get your fucking winner!” 

He’d been out of his mind from how much blood was flowing over pale freckled skin that he’d taken his sword, all ready to plunge it through his heart when a hovercraft appeared in the sky. 

She was lucky, the doctors at the Capitol had claimed. She’d not sliced deep enough, hence a major artery was still intact, allowing them to operate and keep her alive. 

That had started a chain of events that led them here in the secret camp of Thirteen. And if it meant dealing with shifty eyes and sneers and leaving behind everything he knew, so be it. He still won. He has Clove.

Clove, who was now twirling her fork in her fingers with a look on her face he recognised all too well. A look that meant someone was going to be buried six feet under soon. Cato doesn’t bother telling her to knock it off if she wanted her fork rights to be revoked too.

But as he bit into a bland loaf of bread, he caught Clove’s green eyes and the look in them sent his pulse racing, blood roaring in his ears. She was coy, drawing his attention with her tongue, the tip darting out to run teasingly over her lower lip. That very action brought up the memory of how that muscle had laved flat broad strokes on him the night before. Cato tightened his grip on his cutlery till his knuckles turned white. 

He threw her a dirty look.

Clove grinned smugly.

The soft tilt of her mouth and the arrogant gleam in her eyes further cement the fact that Cato knew he would do anything for her. So much for being independent when he was clearly in a codependent relationship with a girl he’d fight the world for.

That was stated clearer when he was all ready to murder two of the patrolling guards who’d muttered some slur meant for his better half when they walked past their table. The red haze falling over his eyes and the senseless need for blood and pain and death pumped through his veins. It took Clove digging her nails into his forearm and Enobaria pulling him into a chokehold to break him out of the cold deadly rage clouding his brain. 

Later that night, in the privacy of their room, he lay gasping on the bed, flushed and more than content, having had no doubt the second best orgasm of his life (the best being the first time they’d fucked back in the Capitol) as Clove slid up, a wide smirk on her face as she cuddled close to him. Their sweat-slicked bodies were entwined in their tangled sheets and Cato didn’t think he’d been this happy before.

With Clove resting her head on his bicep, fingers trailing along his body, tracing the scars that line his torso while rubbing her cold feet against his shin (a habit he hated but was forced to deal with), he’d never imagined that they’ll be here in this position. 

The odds had been stacked too high, but somehow...they made it. 

He was ten when he met her that day at the Academy. And if he looked back, Cato could remember Clove always being at his side, all snotty and vindictive and terribly short. She had been the first person he went to when it came to anything, be it good or bad. Frankly, he can’t picture living a life without her in it. 

However, it was when he was fifteen when he started to notice that Clove was a  _ girl. _

As it turned out, dark curls, fierce green eyes and a smartass mouth turned out to be his damnation. 

It wasn’t long before he realised what he felt for his best friend surpassed anything amounting to friendship. Suddenly, everything she said or did had recurring scenes in his fantasies, be it her eating ice-cream or barking insults at him. After, he realised getting himself off had become ridiculously easy. All he had to think of was Clove and the curses she’d hurled at him, the way her eyes flashed in defiance or how her lush mouth would purse when she got downright bitchy. 

And now, it was safe to say that reality was fucking better than any of his lewdest thoughts from jerking off in the shower or under the sheets late at night.

“You’re quiet.” Clove sounded impossibly smug. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You just sucked me off like a vacuum cleaner,” he said hoarsely. “What were you expecting?” 

She snickered, rolling over on her stomach to face him, propping her chin up on her hand as she rested her elbow on his chest. He watched, entranced, as she leisurely licked her lips, reminding him of how she’d swallowed without hesitation. 

His flaccid length twitched and his mouth went dry. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning away to drag a palm over his face. “Give me a break, Clovey.”

“I am!” A smirk formed on her face as she pushed her hair away from her face. “Not my fault you can’t keep it in your pants.”

Cato snorted, multiple snarky remarks coming to mind but he just couldn’t be bothered. Not when Clove was there, eyes glittering with glee and contentment with rosy cheeks and hair, a tangled mess. Instead, he reached out to loop an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Marvelling at how he’d been so close to losing this— _ her, _ it allowed him to treasure moments such as this, to protect it with everything he had.

From where she was lying, Clove tilted her head and peered up at him. “How long do you think it’ll take for all this to go away?”

Involuntarily, he tensed. “I don’t know. Months?” 

A quiet sigh was heard as she shifted. “Never thought I’d say this, but I miss the sky.”

So did he. Of course staying thousands of feet underground for the past month and counting wasn’t helping. That and he figured the lack of fresh air was slowly driving him mental. 

“What do you wanna do when this is all over?”

He blinked at Clove’s unusual stream of questions. “I don’t know.” Shrugging, Cato ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the only one to make it out alive.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Clove levelled him with an indignant glare and gave a sharp jab to his gut with her elbow. “No one is dying, least of all us. I didn’t try to kill myself so you could die a few months later. Get that through your thick skull, asshole!” 

Ducking his head down, he suppressed the grin on his face at her vehemence and ferocity in her eyes. However, Cato didn’t bother pointing out the flaws in that statement, choosing to tug her closer. With her head resting in the crook of his neck, he brushed his lips on the crown of her head, fingers tightening around her waist.

It didn’t matter that they were in the midst of rebellion, that they had a target on their backs, that they were barely on neutral ground.

He has the love of his life at his side. They were going to be okay.

“How’s the murder squad going today?”

Cato glanced up, a scowl forming on his face when Haymitch Abernathy came into view. 

The man was a far cry of the shadow he’d been since the Games. No longer stumbling about and dressed in wrinkled stained clothes, he was now groomed properly, decked out in an iron-pressed uniform that was the antithesis of dishevelled. His customary stringy greasy hair was absent, blue eyes bright and alert. Notedly, he was sober and the full force of his attention were centered on Cato and his companions.

Opposite him, Enobaria’s face formed into a derisive glare, one similar to his as she leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers haphazardly on the table. At his side, Clove curled her lip and tilted her head upwards as she put down her cutlery on either side of her plate. 

“What the hell do you want?” His ever sociable girlfriend demanded shortly, eyeing the man from Twelve as though he was an insect she’d gladly squish with her shoes.

Cato watched, body tensing when he caught a flicker of  _ something _ flash in Abernathy’s eyes when they fell on Clove. 

Revulsion.

Without a doubt, he knew whatever prompted that look had to be about the long deceased Girl on Fire.

It was just his luck that Clove had set off District Twelve by murdering Fire Bitch. They had lashed out, like a mad dog finally escaping from their leash. Not liking that, the Capitol removed all traces of them, burning them to the ground. That’s when Thirteen had stepped in, offering sanctuary to survivors and of-fucking-course Abernathy was one of them. 

Cato had never liked the older man, likening him to a seedy weasel who was able to squirm and talk his way out of anything. He’d thought he was done with the likes of the Mentor, but as he met the man’s probing gaze, his scowl deepened. So much for that.

As if on cue, his eyes flicked up and he caught sight of familiar cold eyes glaring at them from across the room. More specifically, that icy murderous glower was aimed at Clove.

Muscle twitching in his jaw, Cato shifted his jaw and bared his teeth in return. 

In his opinion, Gale Hawthorne wasn’t much. 

Tall and unassuming and with the same furious vengeful expressions he shot them on a near daily basis, Cato knew he could beat the boy in a fight any time, any day. From what he could tell, the boy was grieving the loss of his friend, who just had to be the fucking Girl on Fire.

How small could the world get?

Fuck, the bitch was dead and here she was, still haunting them from beyond the grave months later. Fucking Twelves. Who fucking knew people from Twelve were this grating? Maybe the Capitol had the right idea of burning them off the planet. 

Regardless, Cato wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the boy should he try anything against Clove. Vigilante justice or any sort of revenge was not going to be tolerated on his watch, especially if the target was Clove. Well, he could always make a habit of killing blue-eyed boys from District Twelve. Lover Boy had been the first and Hawthorne could be next.

Even so, and despite having the full knowledge that Clove could handle herself in a fight with a boy from such a lesser district, Cato ensured the brunette never had contact with the boy. He knew Clove all too well. Knew that she liked taunting, picking at weak spots, revelled in setting people off, enjoyed provoking anger and spite more than anything in the world. No doubt if she and Hawthorne were put in the same room, there would be a fight and a dead body. 

He wasn’t idealistic enough to hope that Thirteen would side with them against Twelve. Being booted out was the last thing they needed right now.

As much as Clove liked to think that she was better at controlling her emotions and thoughts than him, there were exceptions. Their dynamic had changed. He wasn’t stupid. Cato knew Clove thought that she was his protector, defending him with everything she had for he was the unpredictable sort with his temper and fists. But now, their roles were reversed. Clove was the one who got easily provoked and he, the calmer rational one. 

Maybe it was the Games that had done that, scrambled their brains from the psychological effects of being thrown into the Arena. Who really knew? 

“If you’re sticking around, I’m leaving!” Enobaria huffed, throwing the man a scornful look as she stalked away from the table. 

Abernathy rolled his eyes before they shifted meaningfully to Clove. 

His girlfriend doesn’t react and ignored the unspoken request, focusing on her meal as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Do you  _ mind?” _

Cato narrowed his gaze at the man’s impatient tone. 

“Can I have a moment with your boyfriend?” Abernathy rephrased his question, teeth grinding as his jaw twitched.

Clove sniffed disdainfully as she twirled her fork in that manner Cato deemed as threatening. “Why? Surely, whatever you can say to him, you can say to me.”

The Mentor plastered on a saccharine grin. “Hmm, not this one, sweetheart—”

“No,” Cato interrupted, shooting the man a heavy stare. “Whatever you want to blab about, she stays.”

“Look here, Junior, it’s not like I want to spend my free time yakking to the two of you after what you did, but the higher ups deemed it necessary for us to have a…chat—”

“After what we did?” Cato scoffed, leaning back into his chair. “What the fuck did we do? All we did was survive and if that involved killing your tributes then so be it. It’s been what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four years since you won the Quell and became a Mentor. You must be used to your tributes dying by now after all these years.”

Haymitch Abernathy went stone cold, eyes turning hard as he pressed his lips into a thin line. 

Huh. Maybe he was still the hotheaded one and Clove, his impulse control.

From the appreciative smirk the brunette shot his way, he could tell she was impressed by the barb that surely cut deep.

“President Coin wants to ensure that you will play your part in the upcoming fight,” the older man bit out after a moment of silence, clenching his fists, body trembling from barely-restrained fury. “And I am not permitted to say whatever I have to in front of  _ you.” _

“No—”

“Fine.” Clove exhaled heavily, giving a dark look to the former drunk before flouncing off to where Enobaria was seated a few tables away.

Cato watched as the pair bent their heads close as they began talking with solemn expressions on their faces. He doesn’t miss the way Enobaria shot wary suspicious glances his way or how Clove kept an eye on him as she conversed with their Mentor.

“Well, what do you want?” he demanded.

Abernathy licked his dry chapped lips. “The higher ups want to know if your little girlfriend is still loyal to the Capitol.”

“What?”

“Basically, they doubt her loyalty.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Clove isn’t loyal to the Capitol. Clearly, sobriety doesn’t suit you,” Cato snarled. 

Abernathy sneered. “Are you a hundred percent sure? You were the one who defied the Capitol, not her.” 

“She tried to kill herself for me,” he retorted, eyes narrowing. “Why would she devote herself to the Capitol when they want either of us gone?”

“If you even think about lying, I can throw you brats out—”

“But you won’t,” Cato interjected smoothly, leaning back into his chair. “You can’t. The rebellion needs us to get through District Two. And from what I can guess, that’s a pretty big important part of the whole plan.” 

Abernathy grimaces and rubs his jaw. “Funny. You’re not dumb like a bag of rocks like I initially thought.”

Cato ignored the jab. Nothing could hold a candle to Clove’s insults. not this deadbeat man whose past drove him to drinking. Pathetic. 

“Clove isn’t loyal to the Capitol,” he repeated coolly, getting back on track. “If anything, she’s loyal to me. Just as I am to her.”

“Yes, but the two of you are alive now.” Abernathy raised a brow. "Would she go running off to the Capitol when we reach District Two? Precautions have to be made if we even sense the tiniest hint of betrayal.” 

The patronising condescending tone Abernathy used, grated. But it was the underlying threat in his words that made him snap. Right now, all he wanted was the man’s death. Running on pure rage, Cato made a move to get to his feet and lunge over the table, mind intent to enclose his fingers around that scrawny neck and squeeze. To make that hated arrogant face turn purple. 

He would have succeeded had it not been for the small hand sliding up his back, fingers fisting into his shirt as dark tresses entered his line of sight accompanied by a soft confident voice murmuring things in his ear. Clove. 

How she’d made it over here this fast, he had no idea. But whatever she was doing, it worked to calm him down, to erase some of the tension knotting his spine, dissipating the fury rushing through his system, clearing the need for Abernathy’s death. 

“I’m sorry your tributes had to die,” she raised her voice a little louder, addressing Abernathy who was on his back on the ground. “But I’m not sorry for killing them,” she finished coolly, tilting her chin.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be all remorseful,” the man said, derision dripping from his tone. “Doubt you even know what it means.”

Cato growled but Clove shrugged, brushing off the barb. “To answer your question, the Capitol wants Cato dead for saving me. How can I be loyal to the people who want me and him dead?” 

She didn’t wait for the old man to respond as she straightened, mouth twisting. “Plus, I’m sure your Girl on Fire would have murdered me in cold blood to get home too.”

“She would have made it clean and painless.”

“Yes,” Clove shrugged, conceding. “But it’s too bad I’m not her.”

“Would you be going?”

He hadn’t even been home for longer than a minute when Clove came into view, green eyes narrowed on him. “What?” he glanced up to see her leaning against the doorway. “Going where?”

“The Anniversary,” she supplied, eyeing him in manner he recognised as appreciative. 

He smirked, taking his time to remove the black gloves because if anyone liked his uniform more than him, it was Clove. 

The full black army uniforms of the thirteen districts were a new addition as were most of their standard practices. With the fall of the Capitol five years ago, everything had changed. Most of the laws and regulations have been overturned, giving way to fairer and more humane practices. Respective districts had their own Mayors as well as a Ruling Council to take charge of their area. Resources were now easily shared, information given freely and things have improved for the better.

Sometimes, when he walked through the streets of Two, Cato still marvelled at how far they’ve come, of how things have changed. 

“I might skip this year,” he answered, raking a recently ungloved hand through his hair. “It’s not going to be any different from the previous four years.” 

“Says who?”

“You just like looking at the footage of Coin and Snow’s deaths,” he retorted, removing his coat to hang it on the stand nearby. “And you know they’re not going to show it this year, or the year after—”

Clove sulked, crossing her arms as she turned back into the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Fine. But Enobaria is going to put up quite a fit if we don’t show up.” 

“Whatever. She’s not the boss of me.” 

“She is, you idiot. You’re just a slightly high-ranked official and she’s on the Ruling Council. I think that means she owns your ass.” 

He smirked, reaching out to slide a hand around her waist, cornering her against the marble counter. “I thought  _ you _ owned my ass.” 

“I do,” Clove confirmed and arched a brow superciliously. “And don’t you forget it.” 

Barking out a laugh, he released her, but not before brushing his mouth on the crown of her head. As he grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl laying in the centre of the island counter, he observed the sight of her dressed in her navy uniform complaining about the physical state of the volunteered cadets.

As much as they had promised each other back in Thirteen to lay down their weapons, to leave their background of violence and killing behind them, they couldn’t. It was in their blood, too ingrained in their DNA. Hence, they’ve chosen to direct their... _ talents _ in better, productive ways.

Even though he and Clove had been offered positions as trainers for their growing army, Cato had volunteered to enlist instead, to help shape the future of their district. He was trained, yes. But he was aware he didn’t have the same proclivities to weapons like Clove did. And he wouldn’t lie, seeing his girlfriend take on recruits larger and older than her was a hell of a sight. Especially when they thought her inexperienced and too much of a risk. 

Before the Capitol fell, he and Clove had played their roles, convincing their District to stop fighting and let the rebellion led by Coin to enter, to sabotage the Nut without any further casualties. It’d made the Capitol much weaker, their grip on everyone shakier when they’d lost their staunchest supporters. 

However, it was the duo deaths of Snow and Coin that had been the utter shock for everyone watching. 

Having done their parts, both he and Clove had decided to watch the execution on screen rather than be there in person and when Coin fell, body folding over and collapsing on the ground, utter pandemonium had erupted. Till now, the death of Coin was still unsolved but privately, they’ve figured it’d been an inside job. Without a leader to back everyone up, mayors of the various districts were elected to form the main council to address issues and ensure better cooperation among everyone. 

Though they’ve turned down any roles to help rebuild and restructure Two as they wanted a quiet life, it didn’t take long for Clove to go crazy from the inactivity. In fact, Cato was surprised she lasted a month considering how much he knew she hated sitting around and doing nothing.

Basically, a bored Clove, was a terrible, unmanageable  _ and _ unreasonable Clove. 

His mouth twitched as she began pacing in the kitchen, a little frown marring her face as she spoke, nose scrunched up in distaste as her hands gestured wildly. He was just glad that nothing breakable was nearby.

Some people said relationships change when their circumstances have evolved.

Well, he found that that didn’t apply to them.

Sure, they’ve grown up, matured a little, did some things differently, but in his opinion, Clove was still the same, abrasive, unromantic, a little violent and direct as ever.

Cato wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he took a glance at his watch, he grinned, appreciating the lull in Clove’s whining that their recent recruits were terribly trained. Without responding, he grabbed the sandwich he’d prepared earlier from the fridge and chewed into it. 

“Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing?” Clove huffed, crossing her arms, glaring lasers at his sloppy snack. “I got dinner settled, you ass!” 

He bit back a snort but a huge part of him loved the domesticity of that one sentence. 

Looking down to his sandwich and ensuring that half was gone, he leant his weight against the counter, offering the half-eaten bread to Clove. “Here’s to twelve years of friendship.” 

Clove’s gaze darted between his face and the bread and Cato could accurately point out the moment she got it. Recognition glinted and there was no denying the soft gleam edging in those green eyes. 

“Really?” she asked, mock annoyance dripping from her tone as she reached over to take the proffered bread.

“Yeah.” He nodded, knowing full well that Clove loved this tradition they had. She’d admitted it after imbibing too much wine the year before. “Twelve fucking years of friendship. I still wonder how I’m alive—”

“Oh, shut it,” she grumbled, throwing a sulky look from under her lashes. “But...just friendship?” she teased, waggling her left hand in front of his face, the gleam of the gold band on her finger drawing his attention. “If so, I might have to remove this pretty bauble then.”

The cheeky smirk she shot him and the way she tilted her head made his stomach clench. Fuck, he loved her. He really fucking did.

“No,” Cato growled into her ear and hefted her up, wrapping her lithe legs around his hips. “Definitely not.” 

Clove laughed, gripping his neck tightly before kissing him deeply. 

\- fin-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are at the end. thank you all so much for indulging me on this little fic and for showing your love and support. i never thought i'll get this huge a response but i am sincerely humbled and truly appreciative. and of course, i'll be back, like i have 7 different stories all outlined and planned. 
> 
> love,  
s


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